


A Deadly Fever

by tristinai



Series: Worse Decisions [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Background HankCon - Freeform, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Nines, Coercion, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gang Violence, Gangster!Gavin, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions Of Infidelity, Police Brutality, Sexual Assault, Top!Gavin, Unresolved Emotional Tension, bisexual!Nines, human!AU, mentions of risky sexual behavior, reed900, unhealthy eating habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai
Summary: Spiraling deeper into his addiction, Richard begins pushing everyone away, too far gone to care about the consequences. But a string of bad decisions soon finds him at the mercy of Murphy’s gang.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Series: Worse Decisions [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963867
Comments: 75
Kudos: 116





	1. Self-Medicate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmberSH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberSH/gifts).



> Hello everyone! It's been a while (for this verse, at least). Due to the Reed900 Reverse Big Bang, I've been a little busy but I've started working on the third installment for this series. I was going to release this as a one shot but it may be a few more weeks before this story is completed so I have broken it up into two parts. Sorry to anyone who prefers to read a completed work. I will try and get the next chapter out ASAP!
> 
> I want to thank [EmberSH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberSH/pseuds/EmberSH) for being such a lovely fan of my _Bad Decisions_ series and other inspired works. Your support means so much to me <3\. I probably should get back in the habit of giving specific shout outs in the notes because everyone has been so lovely and all of you have proved me wrong in thinking that no one would be interested in this reverse AU. _Worse Decisions_ exists because of you and so long as you guys continue to share your love for these characters, I will keep writing stories with them ^^
> 
> Please read the tags to avoid any triggers you are not comfortable with. While this work has the **sexual assault** tag, it is not an explicit scene. The 'E' rating is for the upcoming chapter. However, if mention of or incidents of sexual violence upsets you, you may want to avoid reading this part. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own as this has not been beta-read. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Living fast is the only way Richard can describe his downward spiral into his addiction. There are mornings where he wakes up in places he has no memory going to, in beds with people he has no recollection meeting. On those days, he mutters his excuses, wipes at the dried blood caking his nostrils and makes a swift exit. Running on a diet that consists of mostly cocaine and caffeine, Richard finds he’s snapping more than usual, tearing into anyone at work who expresses a passing interest in what he’s been up to. His paranoia always has him assuming they are trying to expose his relapse.

Then, there are days where he’s itching for more stimulants, the time between bumps making him lash out at anyone who so much as looks at him in a way that pisses him off. When he comes down, he comes down _hard_ and until he gets his next hit, he’s an absolute nightmare to be around.

Hiding it gets trickier. Connor’s used to Richard directing his ire at him and a lot of what they bicker about—the rare times they happen to be in each other’s presence at work or at their condo—is the sort of thing the brothers tend to argue over. But there are times when Richard _knows_ he’s crossing a line over _nothing_ , snarling at Connor over anything that suddenly rubs him the wrong way.

On one particular morning, when Richard is out of coke and crushes Benadryl in his desperation for a high, his headache is so severe that the way Connor merely _breathe_ _s_ while reviewing case documents sends Richard into a rage. As Richard pushes the files they’d been working on off his desk and storms off, he hears Anderson stop Connor from chasing after him. Anderson makes up some excuse about the pressure of the case getting to Richard, telling Connor to “give him some space”. Connor, fucking moron that he is, believes Anderson and Richard has to grudgingly concede that having Anderson by the balls is at least proving somewhat useful.

Still, it means Richard needs to be more careful. There’s only so much more of his unhinged behavior that will slip under Connor’s radar. The sensible thing would be to _stop_ , to get clean before Connor connects the dots.

Too bad Richard doesn’t want to.

* * *

Awaking groggily, Richard squints, eyes watering as the sun streams in through the open drapes. It takes a moment to adjust to the brightness and he soon realizes he’s not in his bed.

Where the hell is he?

His mind races, flashes of the evening before playing like grainy footage. But try as he might to fill in the missing gaps, he’s left only with a severe headache and too little fucks to give. By now, it’s become a new routine and he’s learned to just go with it.

There’s movement beside him and when Richard glances over, he sees a woman he doesn’t recognize rolls out of bed. She doesn’t acknowledge him, perhaps as unfazed by him being there as he is, and begins rifling in her dresser for something to wear. It would be more troubling if he didn’t get the sense that this is just as normal for her as it’s become for him.

Awkward ‘morning after’ conversations aside, his most recent one night stand is merciful enough to offer him some coke for the road. Richard readily accepts, fixated on how the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes look stark against the dull ash of her cheeks as he watches her prepare a few lines for him. When she addresses him, he’s taken aback to hear the name “Nines” leave her bow-shaped lips. He’s not sure why he gave her that name, nor does he bother trying to remember hers. Even more troubling, he’s uncertain if it’s her crass wit or the charming scar at the edge of her nose that had enticed him the night before but he’s snorting dust and scrambling into his clothes before he has to give it any real thought. Some things are not worth psychoanalyzing.

Not forty minutes later, he’s back at home, sipping the last of his americano and checking his appearance for the umpteenth time. Replacing food with drugs has taken its toll on him and if the dark circles beneath his eyes or the blanched out tone of his skin isn’t a dead giveaway, the hint of weight loss in his sharper cheeks and suddenly looser clothing is. Richard’s always had broader shoulders and more of a musculature compared to Connor. But if Richard was willing to bet on becoming the latest poster child for, “This is your body on drugs,” he’d guess that after a life time of being a size larger in shirts, Connor’s button ups and blazers would now be a perfect fit for him.

Thinking of Connor only makes his mood darken.

How is it that the DPD’s ‘favorite’ detective hasn’t noticed what the hell is happening to his own brother, the same person he lives and works with?

_Connor has Anderson so far up his own ass, he wouldn’t notice a homicide if it was happening in front of him,_ Richard thinks, snidely.

He immediately regrets the thought. He could live without speculating over what—or _whom—_ has been in Connor’s ass.

Gelling back that annoying curl that always falls across his forehead, Richard decides he’s done enough to make himself look less like a drugged up street junkie and more like a coked out business exec. At least he retains some of his snobbish demeanor, even if it’s obvious he’s on something. Luckily, there’s only one person he needs to fool and that’s proven laughably easy so far.

Grabbing his keys, he heads out to work. What waits for him in the bullpen is precisely the one thing he was hoping to avoid.

“You’re late,” Connor hisses, glancing around discreetly. It’s as if he expects Fowler to storm out of his office and start yelling at Richard. It wouldn’t be unwarranted. These days, it feels like Richard’s become Fowler’s favorite punching bag, besides Anderson.

Richard glares at his twin, ‘accidentally’ kicking over the small trash bin beside Connor’s desk. He utters a fake apology that no one’s buying.

As Connor gives him a dirty look, Richard sits properly in his chair, looking down his nose with silent glee as Connor picks up discarded wrappers. Serves him right for not minding his own business.

“I’m here before Anderson. As far as I’m concerned, that makes me _early_ ,” Richard declares. Then, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he asks, “Speaking of Anderson, where is our ‘beloved’ lieutenant? I thought you said you were staying over at his place to look over case files.”

Connor colors.

“Seems odd that you didn’t arrive _together,_ ” Richard adds, with an innocent tone.

He glances pointedly from Anderson’s empty desk, with no coffee or coat in sight, and back to a blushing Connor.

“Mary asked Hank to take care of something for her this morning,” Connor explains quickly. Despite the deep red splashed across his face, Connor returns the critical look he’s receiving. “If you would like to talk about what’s ‘odd’, where the hell were _you_ , Rich? You weren’t at the apartment when I stopped in to get ready for work.”

Inwardly, Richard panics. Outwardly, his expression remains unchanged. He knows Connor’s lying: if he had to put money on it, he’s guessing that neither Connor nor Hank ended up at the Anderson residence last night and Mary would be very confused to hear of Connor’s supposed stay in their guest room. The knowledge that Connor’s being just as deceptive as Richard is what helps him keep a cool head as he utters the first excuse he can think of.

“I was jogging this morning, as I do _every morning,_ ” Richard says, as if Connor’s a moron for even inquiring. “This may come as a shock to you but some of us have hobbies _outside_ of our work, Con.”

“You were...jogging?”

The skeptical look Richard’s given only deepens his glare.

“I went a different route and lost track of time,” he explains, coolly. “Not all of us have a perfect work record. Mistakes _do_ happen.”

“A few minutes would be understandable but a few hours?” Connor hisses. He lowers his voice and leans across their facing desks, casting a side glance to make sure no one’s watching them as he continues, “and this isn’t the first time this has happened. What’s going on with you, Rich?”

Richard actually startles as he stares into Connor’s concerned, brown eyes, the fragments of what he remembers from the last few weeks hitting him like a freight train. Guilt makes him swallow the uncomfortable lump in his throat and his tired brain races for any answer he can give. But even as he parts his lips to say _something_ , he draws only a blank.

Fuck, does he wish he had something to take the edge off.

As Connor becomes more insistent, a loud crash is heard behind them. Both of them turn to see Hank by Miller’s desk, trash bin and files now scattered all over the floor. The lieutenant sways, muttering something to himself, and then tries to pick up the various items and papers he spilled. Unable to keep his balance, he falls over, making an even bigger mess. It’s obvious to everyone witnessing this disaster as it unfolds that Hank is completely trashed.

“I thought you said he was doing something for his wife,” Richard remarks, smugly.

Connor blanches.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Hank,” Connor whispers angrily to himself. He rushes over to help the drunken lieutenant, but not before warning Richard that he’s not off the hook yet.

Whatever. Richard’s not going to hold his breath waiting for Connor to notice anything that doesn’t involve him and his affair with the office drunk.

With bemusement, Richard watches Anderson lean heavily on Connor, in a way that would look far more scandalous if Hank’s reputation as an alcoholic wasn’t common knowledge. Connor attempts to discreetly lead Hank to the bathroom, uttering all kinds of nonsense about how it’s “going to be okay” but Richard can see Fowler shaking his head at them from the opposite end of the bullpen. If anything, this is a blessing in disguise for Richard: helping Anderson clean up his act is a full-time job for Connor. The more of a mess Anderson becomes, the less interest Connor will take in Richard’s life.

With his hands full, Connor barely says more than two words to Richard throughout the rest of their shift. Richard doesn’t even see Connor for a good portion of it: Fowler soon makes Connor drive Hank home before Hank makes an even bigger ass of himself and that eats up most of the afternoon. Part of Richard dreads that Connor will begin prying once more over dinner but as their shift comes to an end, Connor says he needs to drop by Hank’s to check up on him.

“Mary’s working a double,” Connor explains, as they continue their walk to their respective vehicles, “and knowing Hank, he’ll—”

“—drink himself to the ICU?” Richard offers, with a callous chuckle.

Connor frowns. “It’s not funny, Rich.”

“That is dependent on your audience,” Richard retorts. “I, for one, find it downright hilarious.”

Connor grabs him and though Richard could easily rip his arm away, he stops and braces himself for the inevitable reprimand. “Why are you acting like this? He’s been nothing but patient with you and all you’ve done is kick him down when he’s at his worst. Would it kill you to try and get along with him?”

“I’m only showing him the same respect he shows the badge.”

“Seriously, what’s your problem with him?”

“My problem,” Richard hisses, “is that I’ve been transferred from a department where I conducted meaningful work, solving _actual_ cases, to one that’s being led by an imbecile who’s _never_ shown up without the stench of bad whiskey on his breath. He’s an embarrassment to the DPD and until he gets his act together, I will not treat him any better than the degenerates who beg in Capitol Park.”

“He wasn’t always like that.”

“Does it look like I care about who he was _before_ he took to the bottle?” Richard says, angrily. “I’m _good_ at what I do, Con. So why in the hell am I working under someone who clearly stopped caring about getting results?”

“Life’s been tough since he lost Cole,” Connor says, in a hushed voice, as if he expects Anderson to overhear. “You can’t blame him for taking it as hard as he has.”

“That was three years ago,” Richard snaps. “It’s about time he gets over it.”

The words come out harsher than he intends but as soon as they’re out, the cruelty of what he’s said hits him. Connor stares at him, the shock and disgust written in the expression plastered to his face. Maybe if Richard had said it of anyone else, he’d give a shit. But he has no love lost for Hank, not after the prick lectured Richard about his vices. The reminder that Connor is the one who told him about Richard’s past makes Richard’s glare harden.

“Just because it’s been years, doesn’t mean you should expect him to not continue to mourn the loss of his _son,_ ” Connor whispers, his tone scathing. He takes a step closer to Richard, his expression darkening, as he says, angrily, “I get that he isn’t your favorite person but that doesn’t give you the right to be a complete asshole.”

Richard’s fingers twitch at his side and he’s not certain if it’s simply the itch for more coke or the desire to punch Connor in his perfect nose. The longer he stares at him, the more difficult it is to not _want_ to show how little patience he has for Connor’s crusade to defend Anderson’s ‘honor’.

_What honor?_ is the real question.

“You’ll excuse me,” Richard sneers, checking Connor hard in the shoulder as he pushes past him, “but this ‘asshole’ would much rather not endure another second of your one-man pity party for that moron. Have fun babysitting him.”

“...Rich!”

But Richard doesn’t give enough fucks to want to continue arguing and rudely waves Connor off as he storms over to his car. Let Connor sulk and whine to Hank about their fight since, evidently, _nothing_ between Richard and Connor stays just between them anymore. Without Connor around, it means Richard won’t have to worry about anyone asking where he’s going tonight so maybe there is some good that will come from the two brothers being pissed off at each other.

Traffic’s a nightmare and by the time Richard reaches his destination, he’s worked himself into a quiet rage, his nails digging tiny grooves into the leather steering wheel. But all hopes of sating his cravings with an after work hit are dashed not minutes after he runs into his contact.

“What do you mean you _can’t_ sell to me?” Richard demands.

The dealer—Mike—scratches at his beard and shrugs. “Reed’s orders. He says you’re cut off. Don’t want us dealing to no cops.”

“I was expecting these transactions to stay between us.” Richard’s scowl deepens. Seriously, what the hell is it with everyone reporting his business to the pricks at the top of his shit list? So much for discretion. “How does he know that I’ve been coming to you for your ‘services’?”

Mike becomes visibly uncomfortable. “H-He, uh...he told some of us to, uh...keep an eye on you…”

With the anger that’s been building for the better part of an hour, Richard throws the dealer against the nearest surface. He snarls,draws out his gun, and digs it into Mike’s throat. The man squirms until he hears it cock and then he begins to whine like the pathetic piece of shit that he is.

“Pl-Please!” he begs. “I-I’m just following orders!”

“Here’s how this is going to go,” Richard hisses, his tone taking a dangerous edge. “ _You_ are going to give me what I came here for or I will conduct an impromptu ‘stop and frisk’. You are, after all, a rather suspicious individual. It would be unethical if I were not to do my duty as an officer of the law.”

He presses the gun harder against Mike’s throat, a cruel sneer on his lips. “...well?”

Mike trembles. “...I...I can’t—”

With a sound of frustration, Richard smacks the butt of the gun across the dealer’s face. Then, he roughly begins frisking him, ignoring Mike’s pleas. To his growing irritation, the idiot has neither a weapon, nor drugs on him.

“Where the hell are the drugs I asked for?!” Richard demands.

Mike’s sniveling now and shrinks back, as if trying to blend into the grimy wall behind him. He won’t even meet Richard’s glare, shaking so violently, Richard’s half expecting him to piss himself. He really hopes not as he’d much rather not get urine on his oxfords. “I-I didn’t bring ‘em. R-Reed said—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what that idiot told you!” Richard snaps. “ _We_ had a deal!”

He punches Mike hard in the abdomen and the dealer keels over, coughing and dry heaving. Grabbing him roughly by the hair, Richard yanks back the man’s head. His fingers twitch with the need to inflict more of his rage on this asshole and he irrationally wonders if this is all some ploy concocted by Reed to drive Richard crazy. If it is, he’ll be damned if he plays into it and let’s that prick win.

“L-Let me go,” Mike begs. “I-I’m just doing this to pay the bills! Wh-whatever shit’s between you ‘n Reed’s got nothin’ to do with me!”

But if he thinks his appeal will get Richard to back down, the moron has sorely underestimated the cruelty Richard is capable of when he’s this angry.

“You should have considered the consequences of pissing me off before wasting my time and failing to bring what I asked for,” Richard whispers, coolly. “If you’re worried what Reed will do to you should you disobey orders, I will let you in on a little secret.”

Leaning in closer, his lips but a whisper away from the dealer’s ear, Richard utters, “I am significantly more terrifying.”

Mike screams.

* * *

Things go from bad to worse after that. It’s as if the city’s suddenly dry as the people Richard knows has access to what he wants are unwilling to sell. Clubs he would go to for hookups and blow no longer let him in, not even when he snarls at the bouncers that he’ll have these places shut down for all the drugs he knows is flowing through there. The bouncers laugh him off and all Richard can do is swallow his string of threats and keep his head held high as he snidely declares he will be back with a warrant.

As the cravings get worse and Richard slips into withdrawal, the over the counter pills he grinds and snorts fail to give him the high he needs. He gets desperate and resorts to seeking out petty dealers on the street. But it seems word gets out that he brutalized one of Reed’s guys so no one wants anything to do with him, barking at the ‘junkie pig’ to ‘fuck off’ before they fuck him up worse than he did Mike. Richard can’t be bothered to feel guilt over how much he roughed up the dealer. The asshole deserved it.

With few options left, Richard has no choice but to seek out anyone on the west side willing to sell to him. Reed and Kamski have a stronghold on the east but Murphy owns the northwest and there’s nothing stopping any of his crew from dealing to Richard.

Driving to one of the seedier areas late one evening after work, Richard abandons his car on one of the quieter streets in the district, finishing off the last of the spirits he’s been drinking and tossing the empty bottle in the back seat. He blearily squints at the street sign across the road but then gives up trying to read it. Wherever he is, he’s sure he can find his car again later.

It takes three attempts before he grasps the handle on the car door and opens it. He drunkenly fumbles out of his car, narrowly avoiding collapsing onto the curb. Slamming the door harder than he intends, he inhales deeply and takes a long moment to right himself. When he’s convinced he can walk without issue, he straightens his gait and heads towards the run down building up ahead, with music blaring through the broken windows. He wobbles and stops himself before he tumbles over. Fuck. This must be how Anderson feels every day he comes into work.

Approaching a group of men smoking outside the house party, Richard puts on his best impression of sobriety, obnoxious scowl on his lips. He keeps his shaking hands shoved into his coat pockets and doesn’t flinch when one in the group starts eyeing him suspiciously.

“This party’s dull,” Richard declares, glaring down his nose at the man staring at him. “Would either of you have anything that’ll make it more... _interesting?_ I’ll pay whatever you’re asking.”

Returning Richard’s glare, the ringleader of the group blows smoke in the detective’s face. Richard has half a mind to punch the bastard. “Who the fuck invited the suit? For fuck’s sake, Phil, thought Murphy said to stop telling ‘em bankers where we party.”

“He’s no banker,” Phil, presumably, answers. The stocky man gives Richard a once over, and snuffs out his blunt. His expression is one Richard can’t quite place. “I think he’s that cop whose been roughing up Kamski’s boys.”

... _shit!_

How the hell is it that years of cracking tough homicide cases doesn’t get him any recognition but the second he pisses off Reed, everyone in this shithole city suddenly knows who Richard is?!

“I am _not_ a cop,” Richard hisses. He sways slightly and shifts his weight to steady himself. He ignores how his faltering must make him appear less intimidating. “I am merely interested in what you have to sell.”

“You sure it’s him?” the ringleader asks Phil.

Phil nods. “Just like D described.”

The three turn back to Richard, their expressions darkening. One takes a threatening step towards Richard. “You gotta lot of fucking balls comin’ down here—”

“I’m not here to bust anyone; I am looking to _buy,”_ Richard insists.

He fumbles as he nearly trips over his own feet, stepping out of reach before the gangster can grab him. One of the men chuckles and grabs the other two, pulling them back.

“Hey, Jay, I think this one’s on something,” the man says. He scrutinizes Richard for a moment and then laughs harder. “Or off. Fuck, bro, you’re not looking so hot.”

Richard knows he’s a mess, his tie loosened, hair disheveled, and with deep circles beneath his eyes. His clothes are wrinkled and his shirt untucked and anyone looking at him would be able to tell he’s only put the barest effort into dressing. If Connor and him were on speaking terms, he’s sure his brother would have said something when Connor entered the station for the night shift earlier that evening. But as it stands, nobody gives a fuck about Richard anymore than Richard gives a fuck about himself.

“I am not your ‘brother’,” Richard snaps, the term making him inwardly cringe. He doesn’t let the criticism of his appearance get to him as much as it would if he were sober, though it does little to ease his growing irritation. “Are either of you morons going to sell to me or should I take my business elsewhere?”

They speak quietly among each other, the ringleader—Jay—throwing a glare at Richard when Richard huffs with impatience. Richard, to make his point, digs around his pockets and pulls out a wad of cash, waving it above his head like one would taunt a dog with a treat.

With a harsh grunt, Jay rips the money out of Richard’s hand and shoves it in his pocket. “What the fuck are you doin’, moneybags? You want someone to come over here and mug you?”

“I would like to see them try,” Richard brags, pulling out his gun and pointing it at Jay’s face.

Jay slaps his hand aside. “Don’t wave that shit around! You’re gonna make people nervous.”

Richard rolls his eyes and puts his gun back in its holster. “The safety’s on. _Obviously_.”

“I don’t give a shit. If you want us to sell to you, you’re gonna have to play by our rules,” Jay snaps. He indicates to Phil. “Give Phil your gun. We’ll take you to my car, where I keep my stash.”

Richard sways, his inebriated brain trying to process what he’s being ordered to do. Everything about this seems like a bad idea and while he believes he’d easily be able to take one or two of them sober, the thought of being left to the mercy of the three of them is setting off all kinds of warning bells.

“We’ll give it back when we give you the drugs,” Jay says, in a loud and insistent whisper. “We just gotta make sure you’re not gonna use it to take all our shit.”

Richard weighs his options: go off with them to fuck knows where, weaponless and without anyone to back him up, or give up his chance to get high.

_Drugs_ , his brain decides.

He needs only a second to come to that decision.

“Do not lose it,” he orders, handing the gun over to Phil. “It was a gift.”

The 1911 Cabot Jones was given to him by Connor and North after he’d finished his last stint at rehab. Richard swallows the sudden lump that’s formed in his throat.

He can’t think of them. Not right now.

“This way.”

The three lead him farther down the street, away from the party and another group sharing a joint in the driveway. As they pass the broken streetlamps and busted vehicles, that feeling of trepidation gets worse but Richard’s drug-deprived brain keeps telling him that this is what he wants and that the sooner he gets the drugs, the sooner the headaches and tremors will stop. His body feels ready to collapse in on itself and he wipes at the sweat on his brow, stumbles and then catches himself on the hood of an abandoned car. One of the men tries to help him stand up straight but Richard sneers at him to back off and then collects himself. He’s not about to be coddled like some child.

Not minutes later, they stop beneath an underpass. The stench of filth and urine makes Richard gag. He squints blearily into the poorly lit area, scanning it. Jay leans against the sole car parked to the side and pats the hood, drawing Richard’s attention back to him.

“Here she is,” Jay says. “Blow, crack, speed, fentanyl. Pick your poison.”

There’s a smirk on his lips that Richard doesn’t quite trust.

But at this point, Richard can’t give a shit about his well-being. All he cares about is getting high, no matter what he puts in himself. “Surprise me.”

“A bit of everything,” Jay chuckles. He pulls out his keys and moves to his trunk but then pauses. His hand lingers on its rusted surface. “There’s...a bit of a problem.”

“A problem?” Richard demands, with an impatient huff. He’s in no mood for games.

Jap pretends to ponder something and then explains, “You already paid. I get that, moneybags. But...you’re a _cop.”_

“As we have already established,” Richard hisses, irate and with little clue where this is going. “Do not tell me you are suddenly suffering from a moral conundrum.”

A drug dealer with a conscience? Reed already tried that shit and there’s no way Richard’s going to believe Jay’s ever done anything for the morally ‘right’ reasons.

“Nah, nothin’ like that.” Jay’s smirk grows as he eyes Richard with a look that makes Richard’s stomach do a queasy flip. “I’m just gonna need a li’l...incentive. You know, so I know you’re not ‘bout to have your pig friends come down here and bust us.”

The hackles on the back of Richard’s neck stand on end as he feels Phil and the other gangster shift behind him, effectively blocking his exit. He’s trapped. But he’s not about to let his growing panic show.

“...well?” Richard asks, glaring at Jay. “Are you going to inform me _what_ that is or are you going to continue to waste my time?”

“Fuck, you gotta mouth on you,” Jay says, with a cold laugh. “Kinda makes me want to beat the shit outta you instead.”

He gestures to the other two and Richard swallows a cry of shock as he’s forced down to his knees. He snarls and struggles to free himself but their grips on his arms are firm, tight enough that he can feel the bruises forming on his biceps. Still laughing, Jay stops in front of Richard and unzips his pants. A cold sensation spreads through Richard’s veins and he stares wide-eyed as Jay takes out his dick.

“Suck my dick and I’ll give you what you came for.”

It’s not an invitation.

It’s a threat.

“...you’re serious?” Richard looks up at Jay as if Jay’s the moron. Momentarily ignoring the barely hard dick being waved in his face, Richard’s tone gets increasingly condescending. “This seems a little extreme for a bit of cocaine.”

“You want blow, you gotta blow,” Jay retorts. “Them’s the rules, pig.”

Shrugging off Phil and the other gangster’s hold on him, Richard gives them both a dirty look before turning his gaze back to the cock he very much does _not_ want to touch. He almost vomits at the thought of putting it anywhere near his lips but it’s not as if he hasn’t given head for drugs before.

Lucky for him, the cravings are powerful enough that it overpowers every instinct telling him not to. “You seem to underestimate what I am willing to do for it,” Richard says, fluttering his lashes coyly. He won’t give them the satisfaction of knowing how much he doesn’t want to do this. “If this is all you want, you could have just _asked._ ”

Then, with a salacious swipe of his tongue over his lower lip, Richard places one hand on Jay’s waist, the other slowly reaching to grab his—

_BANG!_

There’s scrambling behind him, the sound of both a gun firing and a man’s scream ripping through the air. Richard instinctively ducks, reaching for his empty holster and mentally cursing himself for being stupid enough to give up his gun. As another shot rings in the air, Richard sluggishly throws his arms over his head, curling up to minimize himself as a potential target. There’s the sound of scuffling but Richard has no clue where the gunfire’s coming from, nor how many are involved in the fight.

“Drop your guns!” A familiar voice demands. “Fucking drop ‘em or I’ll put another hole in this mother fucker!”

Something clatters to the ground. This only pisses the voice off more.

“For fuck’s sake, place them on the fucking ground! Don’t fucking throw ‘em!”

“But you said—”

“Don’t fucking tell me what I said! Fucking _do it!_ ”

As the tension thickens in the air, Richard carefully lifts his head. He startles as he stares into Jay’s large, terrified eyes, the gangster lying on his stomach with blood pouring from a wound in his shoulder. A gun presses to the side of the gangster’s head and when Richard glances up, he’s even more shocked to see Gavin’s the one holding it.

“On your fucking feet, Stern!” Gavin barks at him.

With his panic subsiding, Richard slowly sits up, his eyes flicking over to the vehicle behind them. If he could just get those drugs—

“You even think of going near that car and I’m kicking your ass myself!” Gavin snaps at him.

Taken aback by the gangster’s cold tone, Richard snarls, “I will not be ordered around like some dog when I never asked for your—!”

“For fuck’s sake, you seriously gonna start on this shit again?” Gavin cuts him off. When Jay begins to whimper and squirm, Gavin stamps his foot onto the gangster’s injured shoulder, making him scream out in pain. “Let me deal with these pricks first!”

“What you want us to do with ‘em, boss?”

Richard turns sharply, so fast that it makes his head spin violently. Once his vision stops dancing, he sees the other two men being held at gunpoint by three of Gavin’s thugs. Phil and his companion are both roughed up, with blood dripping from their noses and fresh bruises forming on their faces.

“This imbecile has my gun,” Richard says, haughtily.

He goes towards Phil but the only woman in the group turns her gun on him. “Don’t even try it.”

Richard glares back at Gavin. “Will you tell her to lower her weapon or do I need to threaten to bring her in?”

Gavin barks out a laugh and it cuts into the tension with the ease of a sharpened blade. “Really, Stern? You really fucking think you’re taking any of us in?”

“Are you willing to test how serious I am?” Richard retorts, pretending not to notice how heavily he’s slurring his words.

“Maybe try it when you’re not too fucking drunk to walk straight.”

Richard wants to retort something far more rude and snarky but he wobbles on his unsteady legs, which only drives Gavin’s point home.

With a shake of his head, Gavin viciously yanks Jay up by the collar of his shirt. He then drags the injured thug towards his car, calling back, “Get Stern’s gun, Vic. Shoot him with it if he fucking tries anything.”

She does and within moments, pulls out the gun Phil had hidden in his belt. Seeing her with his weapon, Richard instinctively takes a step towards her but then freezes, swaying when she aims his Cabot Jones point blank in his face. Everything’s swirling before his eyes and he swallows a grunt of discomfort as he forces himself to remain upright, heart pounding when the barrel of the gun comes into focus. He’d like to _think_ Gavin wouldn’t actually have him killed but he’s underestimated the gangster before and is not about to test Gavin’s patience.

“You must think you’re so fucking funny, you worthless piece of shit,” Gavin sneers at Jay. Jay babbles something incoherent, which then becomes a strangled cry as Gavin squeezes his hand around the bleeding wound on Jay’s shoulder. “Bullying some pig into sucking your dick. Is that how you fuckers play?”

“S-Stop,” Jay begs. “We-we were just messing with ‘im! We-we meant nothing by it—!”

“You fuckers don’t know the first fucking thing ‘bout running these streets!” Gavin shouts. Taking Jay by the hair, Gavin slams his face into the passenger side window. Everyone witnessing the gangster’s rage visibly flinches, watching as the glass shatters, spilling onto the gangsters’ feet. Jay chokes on a sob as Gavin throws him down and kicks him onto his back. The absolute fury on Gavin’s face is enough that even Richard finds himself borderline terrified of what Gavin intends to do next. Another side of him sees something hauntingly familiar in the violence Gavin seems to thrive on.

Placing his foot on Jay’s shoulder, Gavin pushes down. Scream after scream rips from Jay’s throat, his cut face contorted in such pain, it makes most of Gavin’s crew look away. Richard, however, stares in morbid fascination as Gavin continues his torture.

Lifting his foot, Gavin shoves the barrel on his gun into Jay’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. Then, the gangster leans down, and, wearing a cruel smirk, says, “Since you’re such ‘hot shit’, you’re gonna be a good li’l boy scout and send that fucker Murphy a message. Got that, asshole?”

Jay nods slowly, tears and blood dripping down his cheeks.

“Tell that piece of shit that Kamski’s coming for the West side,” Gavin barks. “And if any of you pricks so much as come near one of our cops again, you’ll end up just like Dobbs!”

_Dobbs…?_

Why is that name important?

Richard, for the life of him, can’t remember _why_.

“This one’s yours?” Phil says, confused as he glances between Richard and Gavin. Gavin’s glare turns to the trembling gangster. “W-We didn’t know. This guy came to us—!”

“Don’t fucking interrupt me!” Ripping his gun from Jay’s mouth, Gavin storms over to Phil. A shot rings through the air, followed by a cry of pain, as Gavin fires at Phil’s left knee cap. Blood seeps into Phil’s faded denim and he buckles over, a strangled whine ripping from his lips as his knees hit the hard cement. But Gavin doesn’t back off. “You fucking assholes need to learn to show some fucking respect! Mick, Lance, make an example of these pricks!”

Murphy’s men babble apologies but their pleas fall on deaf ears. Gavin’s in no mood for mercy and if Richard had to guess, he’d imagine Gavin doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

...what the hell has he gotten himself into?

Putting away his gun, Gavin takes Richard’s Cabot from Vic and presses it into Richard’s back. He then grabs Richard by the collar of his coat. “Vic, clean out that asshole’s car. You two, rough these assholes up and leave ‘em somewhere where Murphy’s pricks can find ‘em. It’s time I dealt with our good ol’ friend, Detective Stern.”

Dragging Richard along with him, Gavin heads away from the underpass. All Richard can hear is the sounds of bones cracking and the screams that fill the air around them. He tries to extract himself from Gavin’s hold but Gavin only shoves him forward more viciously, Richard fumbling on his shaking legs as he’s led to wherever the gangster’s taking him. Wild thoughts race through his mind—of the kinds of punishments Kamski’s men are rumored to indulge whenever anyone makes it on either Elijah or Gavin’s bad side—but Richard has no way of knowing fiction from reality: no one who’s ever been brought in for questioning has ever admitted to how far Kamski or Reed’s cruelty can go.

Richard doesn’t know how much time has passed as he’s forced to follow Gavin, the minutes stretching unbearably long. The run down streets are all starting to look the same to his inebriated brain. The silence between them remains tense and thick and Richard’s too paranoid to complain about the rough hold Gavin keeps on him. After what feels like hours, Gavin’s grip eases on him and they stop in the middle of an abandoned street.

Turning to Gavin in confusion, Richard flinches as Gavin reaches for his cheek. He’s not sure what he expects—maybe a slap or a punch—but instead, Gavin’s fingers are gentle as they cradle the side of Richard’s face.

“Those pricks didn’t hurt you, did they?” Gavin asks, his voice soft.

Richard’s brows furrow in confusion. Then, with an exasperated huff, he waves away Gavin’s hand. So, all of this was just an act.

“I was in the middle of a transaction, one that was _none_ of your business,” Richard says, irritably. The surprised look Gavin gives him only emboldens Richard to be more obnoxious. “Unless the next words out of your mouth are an apology, you can choke on whatever nonsense for my well-being you utter next.”

Staring at him as if he’s an idiot, it takes a few moments for Gavin’s shock to wear away. Suddenly, he’s laughing in Richard’s face. Richard’s expression darkens.

“You seriously think those assholes were gonna give you drugs?” Gavin chuckles. He wipes at his eyes as his laughter dies down and all Richard can think is how he wishes he was sober enough to put Reed in his place as the detective’s cheeks flare red. “They fucking know you’re a cop and you were stupid enough to let them lead you to the middle of fucking nowhere and let them do whatever the fuck they wanted to you.”

“ _Not_ whatever _they_ wanted,” Richard argues, sniffing. “I was perfectly aware of _what_ I was doing.”

”You really think a blowjob was gonna score you some coke?”

“It’s not as if I _haven’t_ done that before,” Richard snaps, slurring his words. “I assure you, I have done _worse_. What they were asking for was _not_ unreasonable.”

“Fucking Christ, do you even fucking hear yourself right now?!” Gavin snaps back. “Is letting some asshole take advantage of you really worth a bit of blow?!”

“I do not judge you for your poor life choices,” Richard argues, “so do not judge me for _mine.”_

He drunkenly reaches for his gun, surprised when Gavin lets him snatch it back. Shoving it into its holster, he stumbles as he tries to storm away from Gavin. Instead of angrily ditching the gangster with his head held high, Richard is caught by Gavin before he can face plant into the sidewalk. Humiliation makes his face grow hotter.

He tries to shove Gavin away from him but the alcohol’s hitting him harder now and it only makes him fall against the gangster’s chest as his legs begin to give out. Gavin clutches Richard against him, not reacting as Richard angrily curses into his chest. Bile burns in Richard’s throat but the soothing hands that rub at his back keep him from vomiting.

“I know you’re an addict,” Gavin says, in a soft whisper. That word makes Richard reel with shame. “And all this shit you’re doing—it’s not your fucking fault. It’s your brain making you think this shit’s gonna be worth it, so long as you get your next hit. But it’s never fucking enough _,_ is it?”

Something prickles at Richard’s eyes. But he’s not going to give in, refuses to let anyone see him this _weak_. Pushing out of Gavin’s comforting embrace, Richard falters on his legs but swivels away when Gavin tries to help him. His lips curl in a snarl. “You realize how ridiculous this is coming from a miscreant who’s made his reputation peddling to addicts? I do not **want** your help, nor your pity.”

He angrily stalks in the direction he’s facing but makes it only three steps before he stumbles into a broken picket fence. A loud sigh comes from somewhere behind him and then, despite Richard’s protests, Richard’s being held to Gavin’s side.

“You can’t even fucking walk right now,” Gavin says, his grip tightening when Richard once more tries to shove him away. “Fucking calm down, Nines. Let me make sure you get home and then I’ll fuck off if you’re still pissed at me.”

Feeling miserable and sick, Richard haughtily grunts his consent. Maybe it’s the strange effect that odd nickname always seems to have on him but he falls into a contemptuous silence as he allows Gavin to lead him to wherever the gangster’s taking him. After some minutes of walking, Richard’s burning curiosity quiets his pride’s attempt at giving Gavin the silent treatment. It has nothing at all to do with how... _nice_ it feels to have someone give a shit about him.

“Why are you doing this?” Richard asks, when he can no longer stand not knowing Gavin’s motivations.

Gavin doesn’t answer immediately. Maybe he’s thinking of the best way to lie to Richard. What reason does Richard have to believe anything the asshole says?

“Maybe I don’t like seeing you give it up to one of Murphy’s greasy assholes,” Gavin finally says.

Yeah, Richard’s definitely not falling for that.

“You expect me to believe this is something as petty as jealousy?” Richard sneers. “Please, Reed. You may be an imbecile but even you should be above acting this juvenile.”

Gavin freezes. Richard has no choice but to stop as well, with Gavin’s firm hold keeping him at the gangster’s side. When he glances at Gavin’s face, the anger etched into it quiets the insults sitting on the detective’s tongue.

“Is it so fucking hard to believe that maybe I give a shit?” Gavin demands.

But Richard’s not about to be manipulated into whatever game Gavin’s playing with him. “It is when _you_ were the one who demanded I stay away from you. It seems that you are failing to follow your own threat.”

To his credit, Gavin doesn’t look the least bit startled to be caught in his own hypocrisy. He shakes his head and starts walking once more. “You’re one fucking piece of work, you know that, Stern?”

However, Richard’s not letting him off the hook this easy. “I know you have been watching me. You even had one of your dealers inform me as much. So, you will have to forgive me for finding your behavior incredibly confusing.”

“Fuck, you’re lucky that that douche Mike owes me or I’d’ve left you to Murphy’s pricks after what you did to him,” Gavin mutters.

“If you had, I’d have my cocaine and we would both be better for it,” Richard retorts, like the salty bitch he is.

He senses more than sees Gavin’s eye roll.

With a silence that drags until Richard’s near ready to pull his hair in frustration, Gavin then breaks it and admits, quietly, “...I’ve always kept to a few rules whenever I’m fucking someone: don’t give my shit to addicts and cut ‘em off if they get hooked. I don’t give a fuck who my guys sell to but if I’m putting my dick in someone, then I gotta draw the line somewhere.”

It’s unexpectedly honest. Richard silently concedes he wasn’t anticipating Gavin would tell him the truth.

“It’s, uh, my fault, isn’t it?” Gavin asks. The regret in his voice is so heavy that it’s almost as if the gangster is choking on it. “You getting hooked onto it again?”

Richard swallows thickly, refusing to meet Gavin’s eyes.

“It’s all cuz I wanted to fuck with Anderson and your douchebag brother,” Gavin continues, barely above a whisper, “for what they did to Eli.”

They stop and when Richard glances around to where they are, he is surprised to see Gavin’s brought him back to his car. When he turns to Gavin, the guilt he sees swimming in the gangster’s eyes makes a heaviness sit in Richards chest. It’s always been easier to blame everyone else for Richard’s weaknesses. This time, however, he finds he doesn’t want to.

“...you should not blame yourself for my vices,” Richard says, quietly. “It was not as if you knew anything of my past.”

But even as he admits that, something about all of this puzzles Richard. There’s no record of his time spent in rehab in his file at the DPD. The only people who know of his history with addiction is North, his mother, Connor, and now Hank. So how did Gavin learn the truth?

“How did you find out about my...addiction?”

Richard winces as he says the word. He always hates speaking openly about it.

Gavin shrugs. “...you’ve been to Riverton Ridge. Don’t take a rocket science to figure that shit out.”

The heavy weight in Richard’s chest sinks lower.

“I suppose discretion is no longer an expectation but a ‘suggestion’,” Richard hisses. His life feels like it’s become an open-book, with everyone divulging his embarrassing past for their personal gain. It’s nothing short of mortifying. “If I find the idiot who couldn’t keep their mouth shut—”

“Before you go on a goddamn rampage, hear me out,” Gavin interrupts.

Richard glares at him but snaps his mouth shut, mid-rant.

“I thought you were going after my guys, trying to make ‘em talk,” Gavin explains. “Then that fucker Mike said you’ve been buying off him—and you were fucking harassing him for more shit—so I did some digging. Riverton Ridge came up and I put two’n two together.”

“I do not doubt your ability to make a connection—even with your inferior intellect, anyone with half a brain cell would know what type of people end up at Riverton,” Richard says, not at all placated by what sounds like an evasion of what he asked. “What I am questioning is _how_ mention of this place ‘came up’, as you so eloquently put it.”

His expression hardens as he stares down Gavin. Not even the growing queasiness in his stomach will allow him to cripple over and give into his discomfort in his drunken state.

With a cold scoff, Gavin answers, “Maybe this is a conversation you should be having with Connor. The prick’s got no filter when it comes to getting old man dick.”

The admission hits Richard like a hard slap across the face. Connor, once again, is the missing piece and him running his mouth off to Anderson has come back to bite Richard in the ass. It really should no longer surprise him that Connor’s so deep in his own world, he’s not figured out he’s being watched like a hawk.

“Stop following him,” Richard snaps, jabbing Gavin in the chest, “and stop following _me._ I should not have to tell you what I do to anyone who pisses me off.”

“Save your goddamn threats for when you’re not drunk enough to suck dick for shitty dust,” Gavin sneers at Richard. “I’ve said it before: I’ve got no beef with you, Stern—it’s your fucking brother and that asshole Anderson who’re on my shit list.”

“You really expect me to believe that you have no interest in ruining my life as effortlessly as Connor has?” Richard sneers back.

“Christ, I cut you off _because_ I don’t want this shit tracing back to me if you go off the fucking deep end!” Gavin exclaims.

Richard’s more than a little offended at the confession, that he is merely damage control so Gavin can stay out of prison. Perhaps, deep down, he _wanted_ to really believe Gavin cared to keep Richard from spiraling to his own vices.

“Yeah, yeah—don’t look so fucking shocked that I’m also looking out for my own ass. You think it’s been all fucking sunshine and rainbows for me since Anderson and Stern slapped those bullshit murder charges on Eli?” Shaking with his own anger, Gavin adds, “Everyone on the streets _knows_ Murphy offed that fucker Dobbs but those two pricks are trying to pin this shit on Eli. So if you want me to fuck off—and leave you the fuck alone for good—you better get your brother to stop fucking trying to frame mine for shit he didn’t do!”

Gavin’s so enraged, he’s trembling, as if struggling to keep from hitting something—or someone. But beneath all that bravado, Richard detects a note of hurt in Gavin’s voice.

_He_ _misses_ _him_ , Richard realizes.

It makes him envious. Gavin seems like he’d go to great lengths to get his brother back. Even if it means exposing the dirty laundry of the officers in charge of collecting evidence for the case being built against Kamski.

_If only Connor and_ _I_ _cared that much about each other,_ Richard thinks.

The bitter taste in Richard’s mouth makes him wish he was high enough to not feel the sting of his self-pity.

“I...cannot comment on that,” Richard mumbles.

Gavin makes a derisive sound. “Of fucking course not. You’re just gonna go with whatever the fuck Anderson tells you. Once a cop, always a fucking cop.”

Richard feels as if he’s going to be sick.

Slouching against the car, Richard stares down at his feet. He closes his eyes, takes a deep, shuddering breath to hold down the acrid sensation burning in his throat. When he feels Gavin softly tilt his face up, Richard’s eyes slowly blink open. Gavin, however, flicks his gaze away, letting his hand drop but keeping it held out between them.

“Gimme your keys so I can get your ass home,” Gavin mutters.

Richard’s lips part but no words come. Feeling a bit stupid, he colors and wordlessly digs his hand in his pocket. His fingers graze Gavin’s as he hands over his car keys.

With little more than a mumbled ‘thanks’, Gavin helps Richard into the passenger side. Richard has no more fight in him and it’s obvious Gavin would much rather be anywhere than within the presence of one of the people responsible for taking his brother from him. It still doesn’t stop Gavin’s hands from lingering as he buckles Richard in or Richard from stealing furtive, sullen glances at the gangster once he’s in the driver’s seat.

...why does Richard have this nagging sense that somehow, he’s the one who fucked up tonight?

“My address is—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know where it is,” Gavin says, pulling onto the street. Richard grips the door handle as his stomach churns, the movement of the car making him nauseous. “Ritzy place on Shelby.”

It irritates him that so much of his life is no longer private but Richard lets it go. Getting angry will only exacerbate his headache.

Instead, he remains quiet during the ride, too sick to trust himself to not throw up in his car if he speaks but also too stubborn to bridge the uncomfortable rift between him and Gavin. They fucked twice. It’s not as if Gavin’s anything more than a good lay who Richard may now owe a favor to.

Whatever. Gavin can go fuck himself if he thinks Richard is dumb enough to fall for whatever act the gangster’s putting on for him. It _has_ to be an act. Why would Gavin want anything to do with one of the people looking to put his brother away for good?

“You can drop me off here,” Richard says, as Gavin pulls up to the condominium, “and leave my keys with the concierge.”

Gavin cocks a brow, looking skeptically at Richard. “You sure you can make it up there, babe?”

“Of course,” Richard retorts frigidly, cheeks flaring. Scowling, he unbuckles his seat belt and opens the car door. “I am not some infant in constant need of—”

He stifles a squawk as he falls out of the car, too dizzy to stand up. He hits his elbow hard on the door and while it throbs, the pain is numbed by the alcohol still in his system. He’ll be paying for it once he sobers up.

As Richard woozily tries to sit up, strong arms carefully lift him to his feet. He scowls to hide his embarrassment but leans heavily onto Gavin, ‘reluctant’ but knowing it’s his only option if he doesn’t want to be sleeping outside. Feeling that arm curl around his waist, pressing him into Gavin’s side, Richard silently acknowledges that there may be worse things than being manhandled by the hot-as-fuck gangster.

“Let me take you up,” Gavin says, his voice sounding thick, heavy with that same heat that courses through Richard’s veins. Or, maybe it’s just Richard’s dick taking far too much interest in that solid frame he feels beneath Gavin’s leather coat. “Make sure you get home safe.”

Too aroused to focus on much else beyond the body he’s propped against, Richard nods. Connor’s not home and if the last few days are any indication, his brother’s not gonna be back until he gets that apology he’s holding out on.

The concierge gives them no trouble as Gavin hands him the car keys and tells him Richard’s had ‘too much’ so they left the car out front. It’s not the first time Richard’s been so fucked up, he needed Jerry to park his car for him. He’ll have to remember to give him a larger tip at Christmas.

During the elevator ride up, Gavin tries to make small talk, remarking on how Richard lives in ‘rich asshole’ central. Richard doesn’t bother following whatever Gavin’s saying and begins to nuzzle his head in the crook of Gavin’s neck. The smell of Gavin’s musky aftershave with the hint of cigarette smoke is overpowering, making Richard’s blood run hotter. Unable to help himself, his lips latch onto stubbly flesh and he sucks sloppily at Gavin’s neck, sliding a hand down Gavin’s hard, muscular chest.

Gavin tenses and he grabs Richard’s wrist to try and stop him. Richard doesn’t miss how sharply the gangster inhales. “C’mon, Nines. Not here.”

Encouraged, Richard suckles harder, intent on leaving a visible mark on Gavin’s neck. He hears Gavin swallow a groan, the gangster’s hand easing on his wrist. When Richard fondles Gavin’s dick through his jeans, he’s satisfied to find the gangster’s already getting hard.

“Gavin,” Richard begs, grinding against Gavin’s thigh, “please fuck me.”

As Richard gets more persistent, Gavin forcefully removes the detective’s hand from his dick. Gently pushing Richard back to stop him from kissing his way along Gavin’s jaw, Gavin tries again. “Nines, stop. I’m fucking serious.”

But Richard _knows_ Gavin wants him as much as he wants the gangster and isn’t about to back down. Pulling Gavin closer, Richard’s lips find his and he kisses Gavin hungrily. To his relief, Gavin gives in immediately, his resolve broken as Richard presses his tongue between Gavin’s eager lips. The kiss becomes more urgent, more wanton, and Richard’s certain there’s no way Gavin will deny him. The moron’s like anyone else Richard’s tried to bed, driven by his primal urges even when he plays up trying to be a ‘good guy’.

Lucky for him, Richard’s never liked good guys.

Convinced he’s already won, Richard seeks out his prize. But as his hand slips beneath the band of Gavin’s jeans, it seems to snap Gavin out of the hold Richard has on him. Twisting his face away, Gavin breaks off the kiss.

“I said _stop!”_ Gavin snaps. He yanks Richard’s hand out of his pants, firmly holding the inebriated detective back. “For fuck’s sake, could you save it for when you’re not this shit-faced? I said I’d bring you home, not fuck you.”

“I do not understand what your problem is,” Richard hisses, stinging from the blatant rejection. No one’s _ever_ said ‘no’ to him. “I want you and you clearly want me as well.”

“Not when you’re fucking wasted!”

“Oh, please,” Richard says derisively, swaying and leaning on the elevator wall. His tone becomes more condescending. “Stop pretending as if you live by some moral code. You are only making us both suffer by denying yourself what you very obviously _want_.”

The darkening look Gavin wears doesn’t hinder Richard as he sidles in closer, coyly trailing a finger down Gavin’s chest. Gavin stops his hand from going any lower but that doesn’t deter Richard. He flutters his lashes flirtatiously, speaking carefully to keep his words from slurring. “Instead of this pretense at chivalry, you should unbuckle your pants, bend me over, and fuck me so hard, I forget I’ve ever had anyone else inside of me.”

The elevator dings, stopping on the floor Richard lives on. The furious look on Gavin’s face is one Richard doesn’t think he’ll be forgetting soon as the two stare each other down. Neither makes an effort to leave.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Gavin whispers, with a quiet anger that makes his words slice through the air with the sharpness of a blade. “That I’m no better than those pricks who will roofie you or make you suck dick for drugs? You really think that fucking little of me?”

The elevator doors begin to close so Gavin jabs the button to keep them open. The _click_ it makes causes Richard to flinch. He presses back against the wall as Gavin crowds in his personal space, the gangster looking more pissed off than Richard’s ever seen him. Despite that, Richard stares down his nose at Gavin, refusing to be intimidated.

“You’re goddamn lucky you’re so pretty or you’d be finding out what happened to the last fucker who treated me like the shit on the bottom of his shoes,” Gavin murmurs, dragging his gaze down Richard, letting it linger appreciatively. When his eyes return to Richard’s, the pupils are blown with lust and fury. It’s a contrast to the controlled tone of Gavin’s voice as he continues, gently, “And hey, I get it—nothing pisses you off more than admitting you fucking _like_ being dicked by some lowlife ex-con. Pricks like you go to your swanky nightclubs for pretty assholes but somehow always find their way into my bed cuz what I give is better than what those fuckers’ whiskey dicks will get you.”

The reminder of what Gavin’s dick can do has Richard swallowing a moan. Fuck, does he want cock, especially since Gavin ruined Richard’s chances of getting any coke. He’s owed _something_ for what’s turning out to be the shittiest night he’s had in forever.

Richard’s about to say as much but then Gavin’s inching closer, pinning Richard to the wall. The gangster noses at Richard’s jaw, his breath tickling Richard’s flushed, sweaty skin. Richard craves Gavin’s touch with a hunger that makes him ache to feel that firm, muscled chest press to his own but Gavin keeps him from moving and Richard has no choice but to obey, too weak to fight against Gavin’s superior strength. There is nothing kind about the soft words Gavin whispers next. “But let’s get one thing straight, Stern: if you fucking want me, you’re gonna tell me when you’re not fucked up enough to let some stranger shove his dick in your face. I’m fucking _done_ being another one of your fucking mistakes.”

Richard stares blearily at Gavin. As his brain slowly processes what the gangster’s said, Richard’s lips pull into a displeased frown.

It’s an ultimatum.

And fuck, does Richard _hate_ those.

“Then leave,” Richard demands.

The elevator doors close once again. Gavin hits the button to open them.

“You really think you should be burning that bridge right now?” Gavin retorts.

“Leave, or I will call security and have you thrown out!” Richard snaps. “I will not be told what to do by some _thug_.”

He weakly shoves Gavin aside and tries to storm out, losing his balance and falling against the elevator doors. Gavin scoffs and helps Richard once more, his grip on the detective firm even as Richard tries to smack his hands away.

“You fucking trust fund kids are all the fucking same,” Gavin mutters. “So fucking full of yourselves you don’t see what’s right in fucking front of you.”

“Let go of me!”

Richard tries to hit Gavin but ends up hitting his knuckles on the elevator. He hisses in pain.

“Not ‘til you’re back in your fucking apartment and no longer my fucking problem!” Gavin shouts back. “Fucking Christ, this is the shit I get for giving a fuck? Fucking shoulda gotten another fucking cat; it’s less fucking work than dealing with you and your fucking shit!”

“I do not **need** your help!”

“You almost broke your fucking neck getting outta the fucking elevator!”

“I demand you unhand me _immediately_!”

“For fuck’s sake, will you stop!?”

Richard finally stops struggling, miserably allowing Gavin to drag him to his door. It doesn’t stop him from being belligerent and he lets Gavin know all the salty thoughts he has in the multiple attempts it takes for him to swipe his key card to unlock the door. By then, Gavin’s all but pushing Richard through the door in his eagerness to get rid of him. Just as Richard expects the gangster to storm off, Gavin takes a good look around the apartment and a troubled look appears on Gavin’s face.

“What the...your place always this filthy?”

Richard rips his arm away from Gavin, leaning on the nearby wall. He doesn’t say anything as Gavin begins toeing aside knocked over documents and takes a walk about the room. Most of the apartment is trashed from Richard throwing withdrawal fits, inflicting his ire on whatever was in reach. And, when he wasn’t smashing things, he had been scrambling for anything he could ingest that would give him enough of a high to reduce the cravings.

“...were you fucking snorting these?”

Richard squints, his vision swimming, as Gavin holds up an empty bottle of painkillers. Dust and bits of pills dirties the surface of the coffee table. Flushing, Richard says nothing and looks away.

All he hears is Gavin utter a quiet, “...fuck…”

When Gavin returns to Richard’s side, he carefully eases Richard away from the wall, his previous anger gone. Richard’s sick of arguing so he lets Gavin help him. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed. I’ll, uh...get the fuck outta here once I know you’re not gonna trip over all the shit in here.”

They navigate through the discarded and broken items littering the floor and even if Richard is mortified to have anyone witness his meticulous home in disarray, he’s secretly grateful that it’s not Connor or North. Connor would just tell their mother, who would force Richard back to rehab, and North would be devastated to know her best friend’s back to grinding up and snorting pills.

Once in Richard’s bedroom, Gavin helps Richard out of his shoes and sits the detective on his bed, setting aside Richard’s gun and keys on the night stand. With a tiny groan, Richard falls back onto the pillows. His head’s spinning violently and it feels as if any moment now, he’ll be rolling onto his side and spewing up everything that’s turning in his stomach. He must make his discomfort known because he soon feels gentle fingers stroking through his hair. When he blinks his eyes open, he sees Gavin sitting at the edge of the bed.

“...I shouldn’t have been such a dick,” Gavin mutters. There’s a pause and then, the gangster adds, “Didn’t realize it was this bad.”

It’s the closest Richard’s going to get to an apology. Guilt sits like a weight on his chest as he recalls some of the vicious things he’s said to Gavin in the last hour. Humiliated tears spring to his eyes and he blinks them back but a few still manage to slide down his temples. What’s worse is that even with the patience and kindness Gavin’s trying to show him, all Richard wants is to sate his cravings for stimulants.

Gavin’s thumb is gentle as he wipes away the tears. Starved for affection Richard knows he doesn’t deserve, he finds himself leaning into Gavin’s touch.

“...Eli gets like this sometimes,” Gavin quietly admits. There’s a hesitance to what he’s saying, like he’s uncertain how much about his brother he should admit. While it shouldn’t shock Richard that Kamski has issues with addiction, it still isn’t something he expected Gavin to openly acknowledge. “He goes through phases: sometimes, he doesn’t touch the shit for months. Then, he’s doing it all the time, trying whatever new shit’s on the streets. It’s scary as fuck cuz he’s OD’d a few times…”

His voice trails off. Gavin wears a guilty look. In his mind, he’s probably said too much but there is something endearing about knowing that Gavin cares that much. It also makes Richard feel even worse for having judged him as harshly as he did.

“I’m sorry,” Richard finds himself whispering softly.

If the apology takes Gavin by surprise, he doesn’t let it show.

“S’okay,” Gavin says, pushing aside a sweaty lock that’s stuck to Richard’s forehead. “You’re drunk. Probably won’t remember half the shit you said tonight.”

Isn’t that why Richard mixes alcohol with drugs? Then, when the fog clears and he’s left in the aftermath of one of his coke-filled excursions, he doesn’t have to think of the consequences when he can’t even remember the actions that brought him to that point.

Tears once more filling his eyes, Richard gazes up at Gavin with a sadness that makes the weight of all his bad decisions feel like a nightmare he’s never going to wake from. “Don’t leave,” he begs quietly, as he recalls Gavin’s promise from minutes before.

Pride be damned. He doesn’t want to be alone tonight.

Easing out of his jacket, Gavin tosses it to the floor. He then pulls out his phone, keys, and gun, and sets it with Richard’s on the night stand. “Scoot over.”

Richard does, moving to give Gavin more space. He has a queen-sized bed but all his pillows are stacked to the left corner of it, where he always sleeps. He never shares his bed with anyone.

Once there’s enough room, Gavin lays down on his side, carefully taking Richard into his arms. Sniffling, Richard buries his face into Gavin’s chest. The familiarity of Gavin’s embrace and his distinct scent calms Richard’s erratic thoughts. As Gavin begins to rub Richard’s back soothingly, the queasiness in Richard’s stomach starts to settle and he burrows closer to selfishly steal more of Gavin’s warmth.

With the heaviness of sleep settling upon him, Richard’s eyes flutter closed. He drifts into a comfortable, dreamless sleep, lulled by the feeling of a strong pair of arms wrapped around him and a gentle voice whispering, “It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart.”


	2. Be My Reliever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard deals with the aftermath of a night of bad decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Thank you to everyone for being so patient as I finished up the second part. Special thanks to [EmberSH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberSH/pseuds/EmberSH), who is the reason I got off my ass and wrote this installment. Thank you for supporting this series and...well, everything ^^.
> 
> A big shout out and thank you to my beta-reader, [WickedWon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwon), for jumping in last minute to edit this. You deserve all the virtual hugs for being so helpful and awesome! Without you, I probably would have sat on this for another week and second guessed every change I made.
> 
> Lasting, thank you to the readers who have been following this series from the start: [initium_vitae_et_mortis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/initium_vitae_et_mortis/pseuds/initium_vitae_et_mortis), [ArtsyNeurotic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyNeurotic/pseuds/ArtsyNeurotic), [Spirochade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiroshade/pseuds/Spiroshade), [Lutarb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lutarb/pseuds/Lutarb), and [Personally_I_Practice_Lesbomancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Personally_I_Practise_Lesbomancy/pseuds/Personally_I_Practise_Lesbomancy). I know some of you also follow my other fics and I cannot thank you enough for your support. To other dedicated readers, I apologize if I missed you. I will do my best to give you guys proper shout outs in any future installments ^^. This odd spin-off series exists purely because enough people liked _Bad Decisions_ and was interested enough to follow a timeline that reverses Gavin and Nines' roles. All of you have been so amazing, it's been such a joy to share these fics with you.
> 
> Tags are updated so please review them before continuing.
> 
> Happy reading!

The vicious throbbing is the first thing Richard notices, a steady pounding between his temples that makes it near impossible to lift his head. Though there’s a sharp pain in his neck, he snuggles in closer to the hard, warm chest he’s resting on, eyes squeezed shut against the light creeping in through the curtains. His body’s sore—like he’s been tossed around like a rag doll—and there’s a persistent twitching in his fingers that refuses to subside. But he ignores it as he grips the waist of whoever he’s sleeping on. 

What the hell happened last night?

He tries for all of a minute to arrange the assorted pictures from the night before in chronological order. But it only makes his headache worse so he soon gives up. Maybe Richard should get his day started and deal with whoever’s in bed with him. Though he doesn’t want to get up, he also can’t go back to sleep, his racing pulse and a familiar tightness in his chest keeping him from succumbing to exhaustion. He needs _ something _ to put his discomfort at ease.

Eyes blinking open, he stares blearily at the man who’s in his bed. It takes a moment to focus on the face he’s staring at. When he realizes who it is, the images from last night come into sharp focus. Suddenly, his eyes widen.

“Gavin,” his hoarse voice whispers.

The gangster quietly snores and Richard can’t be sure Gavin’s heard him but the arm curled protectively around him tightens, as if trying to draw Richard impossibly closer. It’s strange how calm Gavin appears. Richard’s never seen Gavin outside of the shitty lighting in a night club or the old mug shots Richard was perusing through in Kamski’s case file. The gangster’s even handsomer in the morning light, Richard can’t help but think, with his sleep-mussed hair and a peaceful expression on his face. It’s almost a shame his good looks are wasted on someone so...uncouth.

Even in his own head, Richard never stops being a self-important snob.

Still, Richard can’t help musing, if it wasn’t for Gavin’s cocky demeanor or his scars, which add to his rugged charm, perhaps Richard would never have considered inviting Gavin into his bed. He doesn’t usually go for types like Gavin and Gavin hadn’t been far off the mark when he accused Richard of preferring ‘pretty assholes’ in swanky clubs. But whatever this thing between him and Gavin is, Richard finds that the more time he spends with Gavin, the deeper he’s falling into something that’s beginning to terrify him.

Pushing aside those capital F ‘feelings’ he refuses to acknowledge, Richard’s struck with a wave of need, a craving that leaves him almost nauseous. He lifts his heavy head, eyes darting for anything in the room that can hold him off until his next bump of coke. The withdrawals come and go but the mornings are always the worst, the need so intense that it’s thrown him into a fit of rage these last few days when nothing worked to stave it off. 

Seeing Gavin’s coat on the floor, Richard’s struck with a sudden idea: Gavin’s a drug dealer. Even if there is any truth to him refusing to try his own stuff, he must keep  _ something _ on him.

Glancing back at the sleeping gangster, Richard watches. Waiting. Gavin continues to snore softly, gripping Richard firmly. He doesn’t move.

_ Now’s my chance, _ Richard thinks.

He’s going to have to do this carefully if he doesn’t want to wake Gavin.

Stretching across Gavin, Richard moves slowly to ease Gavin’s grip on him. Then, he extends his arm, catching the coat by its edge, and slides it closer to the bed. When it’s within reach, he slips his hands into the pockets, rifling around to find what Gavin has hidden away. A pack of breath mints...a lighter...a crumpled receipt—

“You’re not gonna find any blow in there,” Gavin mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. 

Richard freezes.

With a yawn, Gavin tugs Richard back, arms wrapping around him so he can cuddle the detective. But Richard’s mortified to be caught off-guard and, instead of falling into the warmth of Gavin’s arms, he makes a sound of disgust and disentangles himself. Too proud to admit what he was doing, Richard retorts, “I was not looking for cocaine. I simply wanted to borrow your lighter.”

Gavin opens an eye and looks skeptically at Richard. Then, with a charming smirk, he says, “Whatever you say, sweetheart. C’mere.”

He attempts once more to pull Richard into his arms but Richard crinkles his nose and pushes away from Gavin. Then, just to be cruel, he says, “You should do something about that hideous morning breath first.”

If he expects his words to cut Gavin sharper than a butcher’s knife, he’s disappointed to see it has the opposite effect. Gavin merely chuckles. “Well, good fucking morning to you, too, princess.”

Sitting at the edge of the bed, Richard glares down his nose at Gavin. “Is there a reason you’re still here? I specifically recall you said you’d  _ leave _ once you brought me home.”

That easy smile on Gavin’s face disappears. “You asked me to stay.”

“And now, I’m asking you to  _ go _ ,” Richard sneers. He gets off the bed, standing woozily as his head spins. A searing pain bursts in his skull, his headache intensifying. Rubbing at one of his temples, he reaches down with his free hand and snatches the jacket off the floor. He then rudely chucks it at Gavin. “I want you gone by the time I finish my shower.”

Bewildered, Gavin catches the jacket. He sits up on the bed, wearing a glare that matches Richard’s. Yet, in spite of the hard look on Gavin’s face, there’s no denying the hint of hurt lurking beneath his tough facade. It should be satisfying, since Richard _wants_ to piss Gavin off, but it somehow leaves him feeling sick. “Is that really what you want, babe? ‘Cuz if you want me to go, I’ll go. No need to be a total dick about it.”

There’s a pregnant pause in the air, both falling into a stubborn silence. Richard wants to viciously respond but even he’s aware that it’s only the cravings that are making him lash out like this. Heat splashes across his cheeks as he stares hard at the shape left in his bedding from where him and Gavin had cuddled.

If he wasn’t so proud, he’d crawl right back in and pull Gavin onto the bed with him.

“I suppose you may remain for breakfast,” Richard mutters, like it’s an inconvenient afterthought and not as if he’s secretly dying for more of the gangster’s touch. “Do not expect my hospitality to extend beyond that.”

Gavin relaxes. The tiny, half-smile he gives Richard makes something flutter in Richard’s chest. “Always the fucking gentleman.”

“Gavin.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll behave,” Gavin says, waving off Richard.

Richard doesn’t miss the triumphant smirk Gavin fails to hide.

Not ready to deal any more with Gavin, or confront the fallout from everything that had occurred the night before, Richard stalks off to the bathroom attached to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. With any luck, Gavin will take a hint and not linger too long so Richard can go back to indulging his worst impulses without the gangster’s judgment. He’ll  _ tolerate _ Gavin’s presence, sure. But he’s not about to give up his vices for him.

Richard spends some time in the bathroom, sitting under the heat of the shower long enough to make his skin red. For the first time in days, he goes through what would be his normal routine after a morning jog: showering, shaving, skincare, and then his hair. Unlike most days, he goes lighter on his hair gel, leaving in that curl that usually infuriates him. He’s not sure why but he’s in the mood for a different, more relaxed look. He can already hear Gavin’s snarky voice in his head:  _ Maybe pull out that giant stick in your ass while you’re at it, sweetheart. _

Scowling, Richard drops the towel he was using in the hamper. Even in his head, Gavin’s just as infuriating. 

He returns to the bedroom and sizes up the situation. It’s a mess in there, much like the rest of the apartment, and staring at the haphazardly tossed clothing is making him want to claw out his hair. At least Gavin’s out of bed, meaning he can avoid him for a bit longer. 

_ One thing at a time, _ he decides, grabbing his pack of Sobranie smokes.

Though he’s itching for something harder, he goes out onto his balcony. The nicotine will have to do since  _ someone _ won’t give him cocaine. To pass the time, he goes through his phone messages as he smokes, startled to see the numerous ones he missed from North. She’s worried about him.

_ I should answer these,  _ he thinks.

He’s tempted to leave her on  _ Read, _ despite only skimming through the texts. He’s been blowing her off for weeks, using every work-related excuse he has to avoid a conversation he senses is coming. With all that happened last night, he’ll need more time to come up with better ‘reasons’ he’s been so busy. Deciding it’s better to nip this in the bud before he forgets, he replies, ‘ _ Alright’  _ to something about meeting up in the near future. He’ll figure it out later.

Scrolling through the rest of his notifications, Richard sees that Connor tried to call him a few times. There’s also a voice message, which he suspects is from Connor, but Richard’s pride prevents him from listening to it. Instead, he begins going through his junk mail in his email.

Once he’s run out of reasons to delay the inevitable, Richard snuffs out his cigarette and heads back inside. It’s difficult to see his room in complete disarray and his more neurotic side wants to begin putting everything back in its designated spot. Nothing bothers him more than seeing something in the wrong place and the longer he stares at the mess, the more pissed off he gets. However, he’s left Gavin alone for more than an hour now and knows he should deal with  _ that _ first.

More anxious than he’s willing to admit, Richard enters the living room. He’s not sure what he thought Gavin would be doing—maybe watching something on the large screen tv or messing around on his phone—but what he catches Gavin in the middle of is not what he expects: cleaning. The living room is now spotless, with the empty pill bottles and broken items cleared from the floor and coffee table. Gavin, meanwhile, is humming some old tune to himself as he organizes the blu-ray discs in the entertainment unit.

Mildly impressed, Richard scans the display and book shelves. His mood, however, takes a significant turn when he realizes that none of the items he had knocked off of it are where they are supposed to go.

“You clean up nice,” Gavin says.

He eyes Richard appreciatively, a teasing smirk on his lips.

Richard blushes but it doesn’t stop his expression from darkening. He really doesn’t want to put up with Gavin’s attempts at flirtation. 

“Do not assume I’m making an effort for you,” Richard says, haughtily. “This is simply how I dress on my days off.”

In a pair of fitted but comfortable designer jeans and a shirt that hugs his torso, Richard  _ knows _ he looks attractive. That he chose a shirt that brings out his eyes is merely coincidence.

“Sure, babe.”

Irate, Richard starts arranging his books in the correct order. He has zero fucks to give with how Gavin’s placing the blu-rays back since all of them belong to Connor. Richard had to make his peace with the fact that Connor could care less about alphabetizing his films years ago. He may have free reign on the state of their apartment but he’s learned to stop nagging Connor about Connor’s sloppier habits.

“Hey, I already put those away.”

Richard’s blush deepens as he notes the way Gavin’s looking at him. He must look insane for putting all that extra effort into organizing his books by title. Even if he’s annoyed, it also makes him a little self-conscious.

“You did it incorrectly.”

“Oh,” Gavin says. He shrugs, “My bad.”

But Richard’s not having it.

“What use is there in trying to be useful when you cannot do it  _ correctly _ ?” Richard hisses.

Gavin gives him a  _ look. _

Fuck, does Richard want cocaine.

“You got some good shit here,” Gavin starts, in a meager attempt to lighten the tension. He taps his fingers on the cases as he lists off some titles. “ _ Endgame, Joker, Watchmen _ ...all the fucking classics!”

Richard frowns and he only just keeps himself from rolling his eyes. As  _ if _ he’s dealing with someone else who enjoys that garbage. “Take it up with Connor. He’s the one who lacks  _ taste _ and insists on watching every piece of cinematic drivel with morons in capes.”

“...huh.”

Gavin grows quiet. Sneaking a glance out of his peripheral, Richard sees the frown Gavin’s trying to hide. It makes him feel a little bad to insult something Gavin seems to really like but Richard had been nothing short of honest. He’s not about to apologize for his opinions.

“Holy shit, you have vinyl?!”

Gavin’s face lights up as he begins picking through the records. Richard has to bite down on his tongue to keep from snapping at Gavin as Gavin rearranges the order they’re in, gleefully looking through them. Again, this only proves how useless Gavin’s “help” is when all he does is ruin the way Richard has arranged his home. 

The smile on Gavin’s face begins to diminish as he squints at the names. “Wait...Sinatra? Chuck Berry? Ray Charles? Who the fuck listens to this shit?”

“I do,” Richard says, through gritted teeth.

He shoves a book so hard onto the shelf, it causes the shelf to rattle.

A quiet, “Oh,” is uttered by Gavin as he awkwardly puts the records back. 

“In the order they were in,” Richard demands. Seeing Gavin place them back however he feels like _ bothers _ Richard in a way that he can’t ignore, like a rash that he keeps scratching and that only seems to get itchier. “Alphabetical by the artist’s name, then by title.”

“Uh...right.”

They fall into a tense silence as they put away the last of Richard’s books and records. When Gavin goes to stack the case files Richard brought home, Richard snaps at him for “making the pile worse”. By this point, it’s obvious that Gavin’s fighting to not say or do anything that will piss off Richard further, though there’s a quiet irritation about him as he awkwardly hands Richard the last file.

As Richard reaches for it, Gavin’s eyes flicker down to the manila folder. His brows furrow.

“Hey, this is Kamski’s case,” Gavin exclaims.

He yanks it out of reach, opening the folder and flipping through it. 

“ _ That _ is sensitive information,” Richard hisses.

As Richard tries once again to snatch it from him, Gavin pivots and flops down on the leather sofa. Propping his feet up on the coffee table, Gavin peruses the file. He seems to not give a shit at how much this irritates Richard.

With his sluggish reflexes and a searing headache, Richard grips the bookshelf to steady himself. His glare intensifies as Gavin gives a low wolf whistle.

“Daaamn, that is one sexy motherfucker,” Gavin says. “Check out this prick’s record: in-and-out-of juvie, two stints in max—fuck, this asshole’s been charged with assault with a deadly weapon and second-degree attempted murder—”

“Will you stop salivating over your own record?” Richard snaps. 

He pushes off the shelf and looms over Gavin. This time, he successfully rips the folder from Gavin’s hands, his murderous glare earning him a loud chuckle from the gangster. Just because he’s an asshole, he also shoves Gavin’s feet off the coffee table. 

“So, I’m a ‘person of interest’ in Dobbs’ death? You know, if you’re really interested in me, sweetheart, you don’t need the excuse of a homicide investigation to get to know me better.”

“That is not what—!”

The words die on Richard’s tongue as Gavin gives him a saucy wink. Or, what has to be the most ridiculous attempt at a wink that Richard’s ever had the misfortune of witnessing. Gavin must think that he’s as sexy as he’s built himself up to be in his own head because the cocky bastard is smirking as he manspreads and throws an arm over the back of the sofa.

“...you are aware that you used  _ both _ eyes to wink at me?” Richard says, haughtily. 

“And you fucking love it.”

Gavin finger guns him, his smirk only widening.

Richard’s about to retort that Gavin’s a fucking idiot but stops himself, aware that he’s only evading what Gavin accused him of. 

For fuck’s sake, the idiot’s  _ right.  _ Gavin may be a walking disaster but it’s as if the more pissed off Richard gets, the harder it is to not hop on the moron’s lap and ride that dick Richard’s been thirsting for since last night.

Feeling his cheeks warm, Richard mumbles, “Imbecile,” and places the folder down on the coffee table. As Gavin begins to speak—most likely to further humiliate Richard with his obnoxious commentary—Richard cuts him off. “I will prepare breakfast. You are free to join me or you may continue to fawn over Connor’s collection of... _ films _ .”

He says the word like the Hollywood blockbusters Connor enjoys are an insult to  _ actual _ cinema. They are but he tries to dial back his snobbishness, having already been mocked for his taste in music by Gavin earlier.

“I’ll take Eggos if you got ‘em,” Gavin calls after him, as Richard heads to the kitchen.

Richard inwardly cringes. He  _ thinks _ he knows what those are—those sad, frozen cardboard waffles North made for him that  _ one time.  _ Richard had turned his nose up to them and then proceeded to make a four-course breakfast for his best friend. No one should  _ ever _ be subjected to such a culinary tragedy as breakfast that can be popped into a toaster.

“Do I look like I stock my freezer with that pathetic imitation of food?” Richard responds, coolly. 

To his irritation, he remembers that he’s seen Connor eat those a few times in the break room with Hank. Yet another sinking reminder that Gavin’s wasting his time on the wrong twin.

“Relax, babe. I’m just teasin’. Don’t worry ‘bout me,” Gavin assures him. “But, hey, if you’re brewing coffee, I’ll take one.”

“There will be no brewing,” Richard replies. “I drink espresso.”

“You don’t have a coffee machine?”

“If you are  _ that _ desperate for cheaply ground coffee beans brewed with day-old lukewarm water, may I suggest the gas station a few blocks away?” Richard says, rudely.

Gavin cocks a brow. “...so no? How ‘bout instant?”

Richard makes a sound of disgust and abandons Gavin in the living room. He’s certain Gavin is riling him up on purpose but it makes it no less annoying.

As Richard turns the espresso machine on, he calls out to Gavin, “If I catch you rifling through my work files again, you will be removed from this building  _ immediately!” _ in the hopes that it discourages Gavin from fucking around with his case files. The threat is more empty than he would own up to but Richard needs to draw the line somewhere between...whatever it is they are. 

_ Nothing, _ he tells himself, pulling out eggs, vegetables, and cream from his fridge.  _ He means  _ **_nothing_ ** _ to me. _

As much as he wishes he could believe that, Richard knows it will never be true.

Refusing to dwell on the fucked up mess his life’s become, Richard gets to work on making breakfast. Sometime after he finishes the Hollandaise sauce, he hears the gentle crooning of Frank Sinatra fill the apartment. The man’s voice is like butter to his ears and Richard feels the tension melt away from his shoulders, his desire for the toxic things he can put in himself lessening now that he has the distraction of food and music to take his mind off those temptations. 

Humming softly to  _ My Way _ , Richard carefully eases the egg he cracked into the boiling pot of water. Then, he flips the Canadian bacon he’s been frying. With his concentration split between the music and the breakfast he’s making, he doesn’t notice he’s not alone in the kitchen until Gavin speaks up.

“Didn’t expect you to go all out for me,” Gavin says. “Fuck, it smells good.”

Richard nearly jumps. He stops humming, collects himself, and throws a dirty look over his shoulder. Gavin, looking far too amused, leans against the opposite counter with his arms folded over his chest.

“Have you never heard of staying out of the kitchen when a chef is at work?” Richard asks, with the hint of a frosty edge.

Gavin shrugs. “Nope.”

It seems he won’t be having some time alone to mentally sort through the mess Richard’s found himself in.

As silence stretches between them, only broken by the sizzling meat and Sinatra singing in the background, Richard’s once more on edge. He expects at any moment that Gavin will bring up what happened the night before, will provoke one of those fruitless ‘heart-to-hearts’, where Richard lies through his teeth about ‘wanting to change’ just to get the idiot to mind his own business. To Richard’s surprise, that seems to be the last thing on Gavin’s mind when Gavin finally speaks up.

“Was looking at some of your books,” Gavin starts, with a short pause. Maybe he expects Richard to cut him off or express disinterest in what Gavin has to say. But at this point, Richard will invite any topic so long as both of them are avoiding the elephant in the room. “Didn’t know you’re a fan of Vonnegut. I’ve read like...I dunno, 2 books in my life?... _ Slaughterhouse Five _ is the shit.”

A cold, icy feeling settles low in Richard’s chest.

“ _ That _ is one of Connor’s,” Richard says, frigidly.

He hears Gavin shuffle awkwardly behind him. After a moment, the gangster releases a nervous laugh. “Fuck, ‘n here I was thinking I could say something smart ‘bout the books you like…”

The spatula Richard’s holding clatters loudly to the counter. “I do not understand why you would bother. You’ve clearly got more to say to Connor than to  _ me.” _

“C’mon, babe, you know that’s not—”

“Do _not_ patronize me,” Richard hisses, angrily snatching the spatula back and flipping the bacon. “I’m more than aware of how much more enticing my brother is. Perhaps you should return later when he gets back. I’m sure the two of you will hit it off!”

Richard braces himself for what comes next: the angry words, the sound of Gavin storming out as he tells Richard what an insecure disaster he is...how else would any sensible person react to Richard’s inferiority complex as he pits himself against the reminder of Connor strewn all over the apartment?

But, those words never come. The inevitable echo of Gavin’s shoes as he ‘storms out’ is a sound that remains absent over the boiling water and frying meat.

Instead, Gavin presses to Richard’s back, his arms sliding around the detective’s waist to grip him possessively. Richard’s instinctive response is to tense from the unexpected touch but the familiarity of Gavin’s hard chest makes him relax, even if he stubbornly wishes he wouldn’t give in so easily. Hot breath tickles the side of his neck as Gavin’s rough cheek brushes Richard’s smooth jaw. 

“Let’s make one thing clear, sweetheart,” Gavin whispers, voice low and laced with a raw need that reverberates deep in Richard’s bones, “the only Stern I give two shits about is the hot fucker making breakfast. You really think I’d be trying this fucking hard to impress you if all I wanted was your douchebag brother?”

Richard would brush it off as Gavin merely manipulating him to get whatever it is he can out of him. It’s not as if Richard’s never been enticed by someone using him as a substitute for Connor. But all those irrational insecurities slide away as he detects the note of vulnerability in Gavin’s voice.

“You...are trying to impress me?” Richard says, carefully.

He still doesn’t quite believe those words, not even as he hears himself say them out loud.

Curious, Richard shifts, turning around to face Gavin. A shy flush warms the gangster’s cheeks as he relaxes his grip on Richard, Gavin shifting his gaze to stare at the food cooking on top of the stove.

“Yeah,” Gavin admits, embarrassed, “I, uh, guess I am.”

It’s odd to see Gavin this flustered. Richard’s so used to being on the receiving end of Gavin’s cocksure attitude. It’s a crack in that tough facade, a glimpse at the man beneath all the posturing. 

But, most importantly, Richard can’t wrap his head around what makes Gavin  _ think  _ he needs to be the one trying to make a good impression. “Why?”

The question makes Gavin uneasy. A silence stretches to the point of unbearable, with Gavin’s arms dropping awkwardly to his sides. But just as Richard’s convinced Gavin refuses to answer him, Gavin finally speaks up. “You know, you’re like, smart and shit.”

Richard cocks a brow. “...smart and shit?”

“Book smart, not street smart,” Gavin clarifies. “So don’t go letting it get to your pretty head. Thing is, you’re...kinda fucking terrible at reading people—fucking Christ, I still can’t believe you wandered off with Murphy’s pricks—”

Richard glares at him. “ _ That _ was the consequence of alcohol and my lowered inhibitions.”

“Right, yeah: drugs’ll fuck you up like that,” Gavin says.

Richard’s ready to argue but falters when he realizes there’s no judgment in Gavin’s voice. Not even pity. If anything, Gavin  _ gets _ it.

“Anyway, point is, you know shit I’d never be able to wrap my dumb head around,” Gavin continues, with a self-conscious laugh. “Makes me wonder why the fuck you still haven’t kicked me out: guys like you know stupid fuckers like me are only good for some blow and a quick fuck, and it’s not like I’m letting you near anymore drugs, so why the fuck are you letting me stick around for breakfast?”

“Gavin—”

“No need to fucking act like it ain’t true,” Gavin mumbles. “You know, I spent so much fucking time in juvie, I only got my GED ‘cuz my dad paid off that fancy prep school he sent me to after I got out. Fuck, he didn’t even know he had a second kid ‘til I was 16.”

The humiliation of owning up to his own failings makes Gavin visibly uncomfortable. Richard knows from Gavin’s file that Gavin had a rough adolescence, losing his mother young and spending years in and out of foster care. It’s something Richard shares with Gavin, as he and Connor were given up to a Catholic orphanage as babies and adopted a few years later by the affluent Sterns. However, Richard knew the love of both his adopted parents, even if his mother’s was harder to come by. That’s something Gavin went a good portion of his childhood without.

“You are not too stupid for me, Gavin,” Richard says, quietly. “If anything, perhaps I have been...a little harsh in my criticism of your perceived flaws.”

As Gavin gives Richard a hopeful look, Richard feels his face heat. 

“But do  _ not _ let that go to your thick head,” Richard quickly adds. “I am  _ obviously _ very demanding and  _ no one _ is good enough for me. You, however, have come perhaps...a little closer than others who have tried…”

Richard immediately regrets it as a wide, cocky grin appears on the gangster’s face. “You serious, babe? ‘Cuz it kinda sounds like you’re saying you  _ like me _ .”

“Oh, for the love of—!”

At the smell of something burning, Richard snaps his attention back on the food, cursing underneath his breath. Stepping away from Gavin, he takes the pan off the stove and scrapes the bacon off of it. The underside of the pieces he had been frying are lightly charred and he refuses to try and eat them.

“Hey, they’re still good,” Gavin argues, as Richard dumps them into the trash can.

“I would not feed these to the stray animals on the street,” Richard retorts, taking offense to the suggestion that  _ anyone _ would try and consume them.

Adding fresh bacon to the pan, Richard returns to his task of making Eggs Benedict. 

As he works away at the stove, Gavin once more wraps his arms around the detective, resting his chin on Richard’s shoulder as he watches Richard cook. A hot shiver trickles down Richard’s spine as a tender kiss is placed on Richard’s neck. Heatedly, Gavin whispers, “This okay, babe?” 

Richard silently nods in response.

“ _ But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well,” _ Gavin sings softly, his voice slightly off-key but not at all unpleasant. 

Getting lost in conversation made it easy to forget the music in the background. From the living room,the record continues to play and Gavin utters the next line from  _ I’ve Got You Under My Skin. _

“I thought you didn’t like Sinatra,” Richard accuses, heart pounding in his chest.

He tells himself there is  _ nothing _ at all charming about Gavin making an ass of himself and singing out of tune. 

“My old man used to listen to him,” Gavin admits. He hums the next line and Richard feels the vibration of it on the chin that remains resting on his shoulder. “Don’t mean I like his songs.”

_ Liar, _ Richard thinks, that steady pounding becoming a loud hammering that he swears Gavin must be able to hear. So much for trying to keep a cool head.

Richard gives a tiny gasp as Gavin’s lips press to his neck, the gangster’s teeth nibbling at that sensitive spot he discovered the first time they hooked up. As Gavin’s mouth becomes more insistent, pulling the pale skin between his lips to suckle on it, Richard feels the stirrings of arousal, his fitted jeans becoming incredibly uncomfortable. He swallows a mewl at the back of his throat, craning his neck to give Gavin more access. Gavin obliges him and Richard all but shivers at the feel of rough stubble brushing against his pulse. 

As Gavin kisses his way up, he teases and nips at Richard’s flesh, setting it ablaze each time he sinks his teeth in deep enough to leave marks. The sharp pressure of his love bites elicits a small purr from Richard, who isn’t expecting to enjoy it as much as he does. Encouraged, Gavin hungrily maps his path, taking his time to taste Richard’s skin before he makes it to Richard’s jaw. It’s almost painful how turned on Richard is and he has yet to be properly kissed by Gavin.

Growing impatient, the need to feel those lips on his own has Richard turning his face, thrill rippling down his spine as Gavin’s hot breath ghosts against his mouth. He catches the scent of mint and stops short of closing the distance. With guilt, he recalls his behavior earlier when he had shirked away from Gavin in disgust as the gangster tried to cuddle him.

Clearly, Gavin had taken his comments on his breath to heart.

“Gavin…” Richard whispers, voice shaking with need.

He feels the smirk in Gavin’s voice as the gangster whispers, “...think your food’s ‘bout to burn again.”

... _ shit! _

Twisting out of Gavin’s arms, Richard only just manages to save the bacon before it actually does burn. Hearing Gavin laughing behind him, Richard throws a glare over his shoulder, scathingly accusing him of sabotaging breakfast, but this only makes Gavin laugh harder. Richard’s arousal is momentarily forgotten as he salvages their breakfast.

Once Richard is no longer scrambling to save the food, he collects himself and finishes preparing the plates. He garnishes the Eggs Benedict with dill and parsley and places it in front of Gavin. Within seconds, Gavin’s digging in hungrily, a groan of approval swallowed around the mouthful of food. 

“Fuck, this is delicious, babe,” Gavin says. 

As Gavin takes another bite, Richard tries not to let his relief show. His cooking ability was never in question but that doesn’t mean he isn’t without his validation-seeking moments. 

“Besides pole tricks and cooking, got any other secret talents I should know about?”

The question gives Richard pause. Not wishing to squander an opportunity to preen, Richard airily replies, “Remain on my good side and I will show you the full  _ extent _ of my talents.”

And, just to be an obnoxious prick, he winks. With  _ one _ eye.

But if he’s hoping to catch Gavin having a moment of humility, it seems to have the opposite effect. Gavin chuckles, though it doesn’t diminish the heat in his eyes as he catches Richard’s gaze from across the dining room table. “So, I’m on your good side now? Was it me singing Sinatra or my handsome face that won you over?

Flustered over how easily he set himself up, Richard mutters, “Shut up and eat your food.” 

Gavin doesn’t need to be told twice.

As Gavin wolfs down the rest of his Eggs Benedict, the ache in Richard’s head ripples with newfound fervor. He tries to ignore it, taking his utensils with his shaking fingers and cutting into a slice of tomato on his plate. But he can’t bring himself to eat, a wave of nausea hitting him as he picks at his food. Just inhaling the flavorful scent of what he’s cooked makes it suddenly smell more rancid, with the burn of bile creeping up his throat. His fork clatters to the plate.

“Nines?”

Gavin’s concerned voice startles Richard. He flinches as if Gavin shouted his name, eyes darting sharply to glare at the man sitting across from him. Seeing the worry etched into Gavin’s face somehow pisses him off even more.

He can’t do this. He can’t pretend everything’s  _ okay  _ when it’s clearly  _ not. _

“Why haven’t you brought up last night?” Richard demands, his voice quiet but harsh. “You clearly took issue with the... _ compromising position _ you found me in. Yet, you’re acting as if  _ nothing _ happened.”

Richard’s looking for an argument. He needs an outlet, a way to release his frustration as his body suffers from being denied what it craves. So, he’s opting for the next best thing: taking out his frustration on the nearest punching bag.

Unfortunately, that punching bag is Gavin.

“How much of last night do you remember?” Gavin asks. He fidgets a bit and gingerly touches the scar across his nose. “Not gonna lie, was kinda hoping you’d forgotten the worst of it.”

“I recall enough to know that you were interfering in  _ something  _ that was never your concern,” Richard snaps.

Gavin’s quietly for a moment, moving one of the veggies with his fork. It seems his ravenous appetite from moments before is suddenly forgotten.

“...can we not fucking do this right now?” he mutters. “Fucking can’t go two goddamn minutes without you picking a goddamn fight with me.”

“No one is making you sit through breakfast with me.”

“Is it so fucking hard to believe that maybe I  _ want _ to be here!” Gavin snaps. Upon hearing his voice echo in the dining space, a change comes over Gavin and he tries to hold back the scowl pulling at the corners of his lips. “Nines—”

As Gavin reaches across the table to try and touch Richard’s hand, Richard abruptly gets up. “It seems I am less hungry than I thought.”

He throws his napkin over his food, rendering it inedible. Then, before he has to listen to whatever useless apology Gavin’s about to sputter, Richard storms off to the kitchen. The trembling’s gotten worse, much like his headache. Since he’s gone through all the medication in the apartment, he opts for another espresso. At least his caffeine addiction won’t have Gavin embarking on another one-man mission to ‘save’ Richard from himself.

Too stubborn to indulge his guilt for snapping at Gavin, Richard convinces himself that it’s ‘for the best’ as he anticipates Gavin leaving at any moment. The gangster might  _ act _ as if he believes he’s not good enough for Richard but they both know the opposite is the truth. Richard’s an  _ addict.  _ He’s not even considered the more handsome or the more personable of the Stern brothers. So why would anyone think he’s worth putting up with?

Sneering, Richard jabs the button on his espresso machine. It blinks multiple times. Nothing happens. 

_ What the hell?! _

He glances closely at it and snarls. It’s out of water.

With an angry shout, Richard yanks the machine from the counter and throws it to the ground. The machine breaks apart into sizable chunks, cracking the marble tile. None of this matters, anyway. It’s just another replaceable thing that’s lost its usefulness, much like Richard.

Breathing hard, Richard’s eyes flicker wildly around the room, seeking out something else to break. To his shock, Gavin’s standing in the doorway, lips pulled in a tight line as he stares at the sight before him. Belatedly, Richard realizes he never heard the front door slam.

No longer caring about his pride, Richard falls to his knees in front of Gavin. There’s only one way out of this, one way to make the tremors stop. Gripping desperately at Gavin’s hands, Richard begs him, “Gavin, please, you  _ need  _ to get me something. I will pay whatever amount you ask!”

“Nines—!”

“Do  _ not _ make me go another day like this!” Richard says. He reaches for the buckle on Gavin’s jeans. “There are other things I can do if money is not enough—!”

“Fucking  _ stop! _ ” Gavin grabs Richard by his wrists, forcing him back to his feet. Similar to the night before, Richard’s given an enraged and hurt look as Gavin snaps, “I already told you I’m not giving you any fucking drugs so stop fucking degrading yourself like this!”

Angry tears burn in Richard’s eyes but he blinks them back, shoving Gavin roughly against the counter. “All of this is  _ your fault! _ If I had never been sent to your stupid club—”

“You think I don’t fucking feel like shit for giving you that blow?” Gavin snaps. “For fuck’s sake, Nines, I’m here ‘cuz I’m trying to make this shit _ right! _ I wanna help you.”

“Please, the only one you wish to help is  _ yourself _ ,” Richard accuses. Though the night before remains an embarrassing mess in his head, he recalls some parts of it more vividly than others. One relevant argument in particular sticks out. “I  _ remember _ last night, Reed.  _ You _ made it very clear that all this effort you’re making for my ‘well-being’ is so that none of this gets traced back to you!”

Gavin’s expression hardens.

Confident in his accusation, Richard leans in closer. His tone is mocking as his lips curl in a snarl and he utters his threat. “I have little doubt in my mind the charges Connor will slap on you if he learns that you’re the reason I’m like this.”

Though Richard and Connor might not be on speaking terms, Richard knows that when Connor goes on one of his crusades, he will do everything is his power to see justice served. And putting away the man who caused Richard to relapse? Richard would not be surprised if Connor plants evidence to ensure a conviction. Connor might sometimes miss what’s in front of him but when he’s in the mood to play ‘hero’, he delivers.

Gavin, however, is not at all impressed with Richard’s threat. 

“Fucking Christ, is this really how you’re gonna fucking play this?” Gavin snaps back. “Threatening to run to your big brother and tell him what? That I fucking forced you to snort that coke by gunpoint?” He scoffs derisively, then shakes his head in what may be pity. “For fuck’s sake, open your goddamn eyes: if your brother gave a fucking shit about you, then where the fuck is he?”

Richard falters but quickly recovers, refusing to let Gavin see how hurt he is by the thought that Connor might not care at all. “Him and I...Connor is  _ busy _ at the moment.”

“Is ‘busy’ Anderson’s new nickname?” Gavin says, with a cruel laugh.

“I am more than aware of his shortcomings and do not judge him for his vices,” Richard retorts. “At least he has better taste than myself and isn’t suffering in the company of some petty wannabe thug merely using him to avoid drug charges!”

“Right, ‘cuz being used by some asshole too fucking spineless to leave his own wife is fucking better,” Gavin replies, scathingly.

“I am not going to debate my brother, nor the lieutenant’s, lack of integrity with you,” Richard declares, getting increasingly annoyed. “This hardly changes  _ why _ you are here and  _ why _ you refuse to admit that the only reason you have ever indulged me is to manipulate me into—!”

“Christ’s sake, how the fuck have you not figured out that I  _ like  _ you!” Gavin shouts over him. Richard’s mouth snaps closed, his eyes widen, and he stares at the gangster in shock. He’s ready to accuse Gavin of lying but then he sees the deep blush that’s filling Gavin’s cheeks.

_ He...cannot be serious, _ Richard silently reasons.

But everything about Gavin’s body language shows that he  _ is. _

Despite his obvious embarrassment at his outburst, Gavin presses on. “Fuck knows  _ why  _ I do. I must be outta my fucking mind to keep coming back and getting dragged in your shit. But...fuck. I, uh, guess I can’t fucking help myself.”

Stunned at Gavin’s confession, Richard studies Gavin’s face closely, seeking out anything to indicate deception. There’s no way this can be true, not after how he’s treated him. But all Richard sees is an unexpected honesty written in Gavin’s gruff bashfulness. “Gavin...”

“Eli’s always said I’m gonna fuck myself over by chasing assholes,” Gavin continues, with a scowl. The insult should piss Richard off but...well, Gavin’s not wrong. “That’s gotta be it. Cuz no matter how much I stick my fucking neck out for you, you don’t give a shit about me. You do whatever the fuck you want _whenever_ it fucking pleases you. Fuck, you treat your goddamn badge like it’s a fashion accessory and give zero fucks ‘bout being a decent cop,” Gavin sneers at him. Richard _could_ retort that he’s got a pretty good record of cracking cold cases but he’s got a feeling it’s not his record Gavin is criticizing. “But fuck if I’m not ready to start a fucking turf war for your prissy ass ‘cuz I’ll be damned if I let any prick get away with fucking with you!”

Richard’s heart thumps a bit faster. He thinks of the shattered glass and Jay’s cut up face as the drug dealer lay moaning on the ground.

Gavin did all that. And from what Richard’s contacts have said of Murphy, the man’s been looking for any excuse to retaliate against Kamski and Reed. Whatever fragile truce kept both families on their own corners of the city was broken the moment Gavin intervened.

“No one asked you to do that…” Richard says quietly.

He tells himself Gavin’s actions have  _ nothing _ to do with him. That he doesn’t feel the least bit responsible for whatever shit Gavin’s now knees deep in. But even he’s learned better than to listen to himself.

“Well I’m gunna, cuz I don’t ever wanna see you on your knees like that again,” Gavin says, fiercely. “Not unless it’s for  _ me _ , without any fucking strings attached.”

Richard flushes but then winces as he remembers the dirt beneath his knees at how eagerly he dropped to them when he thought he was getting a hit. And then again with Gavin, willing to suck cock for all the wrong reasons when the reality is that he doesn’t need drugs to want to be with Gavin. But to act as if that is what it will take...

As Richard tries to find the words to begin to apologize, Gavin breaks eye contact, staring down at the broken ceramic cup on the kitchen floor. But the words don’t come. Richard’s tongue is heavier than lead as it sits like an empty weight in his mouth. Instead, Gavin breaks the tension before it thickens to the point of stifling. “And yeah, I get that it looks real fucking suspicious that I’m fucking the asshole trying to put Eli away for life. But I don’t give a shit ‘bout the case or ‘bout blackmailing you or whatever. Fuck, I’m not even gonna try ‘n change your mind ‘bout Eli—though you dumb fucks are going after the wrong guy,” Gavin mutters that last part, loud enough that there’s no way Richard wouldn’t hear it. “I just...I like you, Nines.”

That’s what it comes down to. Three simple words.

“...you are incorrect,” Richard says, quietly. He wears a blush that matches Gavin’s and feels it creep down his neck. Softly, he adds, “in your assumption that I do not give a shit about you.”

“...oh.” Gavin shuffles awkwardly and when Richard glances at the gangster’s face, both of them quickly look away. It’s like they’re in fifth grade all over again telling a crush how cute they are. “You know, it’s never been about Eli. This, uh, thing between us.”

Gavin indicates to the space between them helplessly, as if they’re tethered together by some invisible force. It must be that because how else does a detective end up in bed with a drug lord? “All I wanna do is hangout with you and, uh, maybe get you off the drugs...cuz I kinda like you better when you’re off them. Even when you’re being a dick.”

Richard swallows thickly. He wants to be angry—being angry, blaming Gavin for  _ all _ of this is easier. But he knows he  _ can’t. _ Deep down, some part of him agrees with Gavin.

“I also like myself better when I am off the drugs,” Richard admits.

There’s a crack in his voice. He feels pathetic—arguing and projecting his anger at his failures onto someone who never tried to get him to relapse in the first place. It’s his own fault and instead of accepting it, he’s pushing away the only person who gives enough fucks to try and help him.

He stifles the urge to sniffle, staring miserably at the floor. He’s barely hit rock bottom, knows that his cravings and behavior can only get worse if he doesn’t do something about it. But that doesn’t stop him from feeling shittier than he had the last time he relapsed. 

“Hey, c’mon. Everyone fucks up.”

Richard doesn’t resist when Gavin pulls him into his arms, burying his face in the gangster’s shoulder and hugging him tightly. He utters a quiet apology into Gavin’s shirt, too muffled for Gavin to hear but needing his lips to form the words to begin to forgive himself. With all fight draining from him, he soaks in the comfort of Gavin’s embrace. A sob rocks in his chest, swallowed before it can escape, a dry sound that leaves him quivering. He’s still too proud to cry but he feels his defenses chip away as Gavin whispers soft words of encouragement in Richard’s ear. It’s a struggle to not break down completely.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gavin promises. “You can say whatever shit you want but I ain’t fucking abandoning you. You got that, sweetheart?” 

Fuck, does Richard want to believe him.

“...I want to stop,” Richard admits into Gavin’s shoulder.

“You can, babe,” Gavin whispers, stroking Richard’s back.

Richard isn’t as confident, can already hear that voice of doubt attempting to poison any effort to quit before he’s made it. He really doesn’t know if he will be able to resist temptation the next time it calls. 

But as Gavin holds Richard in his arms, Richard can’t help but hope that at least, with Gavin here, he just might.

* * *

Once Richard’s calmed down, Gavin gets to work cleaning the kitchen. Richard tries to assist him but Gavin’s too stubborn, refusing to let him and then pushing Richard to finally eat something. Richard opts for some oatmeal, slowly swallowing small mouthfuls of it as he watches Gavin work, occasionally directing the gangster on where things go. Gavin doesn’t seem to mind the micromanaging, even cracks a smirk when he catches Richard staring at his ass. In Richard’s defense, Gavin was bent over rather provocatively within his line of sight.

With the kitchen out of the way and his food mostly finished, Richard joins Gavin in cleaning up the rest of the apartment. The remainder of the morning is spent putting everything back the way it was and once Richard finds it ‘acceptable’ (there are  _ some _ things he will need to rearrange after Gavin leaves), Gavin collapses on the sofa with a low groan. Richard watches him with bemusement, cocking a brow at Gavin’s dramatics.

“ _ You _ are one messy prick,” Gavin says, with a small chuckle. “You’re lucky you’re so damn pretty or I’d’ve bailed before you could turn me into your personal maid.”

With an exaggerated huff, Richard retorts, “You volunteered. I didn’t make you do anything.”

Smirking, Gavin takes Richard’s hand and tugs him down onto his lap. Richard makes a show of ‘reluctantly’ being pulled down and shifts to comfortably straddle Gavin. He gives up the pretense as Gavin begins kissing his neck, the gangster’s lips seeking out the same bruises he put there earlier. A gentle moan spills off Richard’s tongue as Gavin’s mouth becomes more insistent, suckling and nipping at what little of Richard’s skin is exposed above his shirt collar. Becoming increasingly turned on, Richard gently rocks in Gavin’s lap. Feeling his erection brush against Gavin’s, he exhales a tiny whine.

“Gavin,” he gasps, his voice hitching when Gavin grips him by the hips and forces him down harder on his cock, “you’ll leave more marks if you keep doing that.”

“Good,” Gavin whispers roughly against his skin. “Then all the other fuckers’ll know you’re getting good dick.”

The possessive and cocky tone should annoy Richard, who’s never been one for commitments that extend beyond a casual midnight tryst. People are too emotional and demanding and Richard’s been disappointed enough times to know that when he meets his match, he falls in too deep and is always left picking up the pieces of his damaged pride. But something about Gavin claiming him, marking what’s  _ his _ , makes Richard’s blood run hotter. Perhaps it’s the idea that he  _ can  _ tame someone known for being...well, a bit of a slut. 

Tilting Gavin’s face away from his neck, Richard cradles Gavin’s jaw, his eyes flicking to that faded scar across Gavin’s nose. Feeling almost shy, he presses his lips softly to the healed skin. When he pulls back, he catches Gavin giving him a tender smile.

“Going soft on me, babe?” Gavin teases.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Richard growls, trying to disguise his embarrassment at showing more sentiment than he meant to. If anything, Gavin seems to become more amused.

“So fucking bossy,” Gavin murmurs, but does as he’s told.

After a morning of arguing, Richard finally gets that kiss that’s eluded him. Gavin’s mouth presses to his hungrily, the gangster not holding back anything as he slides his tongue wantonly against Richard’s. It’s dizzying in a way that makes Richard question how easily he falls for the powdered thrills of his addiction when being kissed by Gavin is its own kind of addiction. Gavin kisses him as if he’s been starved for Richard, as if Richard’s the only one who can arouse such need in him. Fuck, does Richard want that to be true.

“Oh, Gavin,” Richard moans, pressing his forehead to the gangster’s as he pants gently against Gavin’s lips. He’s already feeling the loss of them but needs to take a moment to catch his breath before Gavin once more kisses him senseless.

“Yeah? There something you want, gorgeous?” 

_ Why must he always be such an infuriating tease?  _ Richard thinks.

Nothing would stroke that asshole’s already bloated ego as much as hearing Richard submit to him. Well, Richard’s not going to give in  _ that _ easy.

“You’ve been wearing these clothes since yesterday,” Richard whispers, playfully tugging on Gavin’s shirt. “I think it’s about time you  _ removed  _ them.”

He makes his intent clear, so there’s no question in Gavin’s mind  _ what _ Richard wants. However, because Gavin also refuses to let Richard get away with playing it coy, Gavin takes it in a direction Richard does not expect.

“You’re right. I bet I smell like shit,” Gavin says, with a breathy laugh. “Mind if I use your shower?”

And that is how Richard ends up sulkily flipping through his phone not minutes later, the sound of running water filtering into the bedroom. Sitting at the edge of his bed, he glances towards the bathroom door, left partially open by Gavin. It’s an unspoken invitation, one Richard won’t entertain because he will  _ not _ be the one to give in first. Besides, his appearance is impeccable for the first time in  _ days _ and he isn’t about to ruin that by getting his hair wet.

_ You’re an idiot _ , he mentally chastises himself.

He gets the feeling that he’s the one suffering the most from his ridiculous decision to wait until Gavin admits that he wants Richard as badly as Richard wants him. 

Glaring down at his phone, Richard’s fingers begin twitching, as they have done on-and-off all morning.

_ Not again. _

To distract himself from his more destructive temptations, Richard decides he may as well play Connor’s message. As pissed off as he might be at his twin, they’ll need to reconcile at some point. And, if Richard is a little honest with himself, _ maaaaybe _ he was a bit rude to Connor…

Dialing his voicemail, Richard taps in the code and plays the message. He bites back the urge to retort scathingly as Connor asks how Richard’s been and if he’s made any headway in the case files he’s been looking over. It almost slips his mind that this is only a recording. 

But before long, the message becomes increasingly more frustrating, with Connor avoiding the apology Richard  _ knows _ he’s owed. 

“ _...I don’t want to keep imposing on Mary so I’ll be back home after work tomorrow. By then, I think you’ll be ready to apologize for—”  _

Richard gives an annoyed exhale, jabbing the screen hard. He’s heard enough. He’s sick of always being guilted by Connor when the issue is black and white: Richard may have been harsh in his criticism of Hank but he’s not  _ wrong. _

Abandoning his phone before he drives himself into an even fouler mood, Richard is so lost in his own head that he doesn’t realize the shower’s stopped until he hears the bathroom door creak the rest of the way open. Flitting his gaze in the direction of the sound, his negative train of thought ceases as he drinks in the sight of Gavin’s toned, naked torso filling the doorway. Gavin’s damp skin shines in the soft light filtering into the bedroom, the towel he wears slung so low on his hips, Richard can’t keep his eyes from trailing down to where the sharp lines dip beneath the fabric. That treasure trail of dark hairs hints at what’s below and Richard’s memory, while sharp, is suddenly unsatisfying. It’s not enough to remember what Gavin’s dick looks and tastes like when all he wants to do it is feel it inside of him.

“Got anything I can wear?”

Richard blinks, staring rather stupidly at Gavin. When he realizes Gavin’s still waiting for an answer, Richard’s cheeks flare. 

“I may have something old I do not mind you ruining,” Richard replies, hiding behind that wall of obnoxious arrogance that’s become second nature to him

Why can’t he let himself  _ want _ without the excuse of alcohol and drugs?

But Gavin’s come to expect it of him, if the gangster’s cocky smirk is anything to go by. In this game of cat-and-mouse Richard has always prided himself in being the cat, stalking quietly and waiting for the opportune moment to pounce. To his dismay, he’s quickly learning that he was never the predator but always the prey and Gavin’s merely been toying with his food.

Not trusting himself to hold out much longer, Richard gets up, keeping his back to Gavin as he moves to the dresser in search of those ‘old clothes’. Maybe without the visual reminder of  _ what _ he’s denying himself, Richard can pretend his defenses aren’t cracking and he’s one clumsy moment away from succumbing.

As he takes out a t-shirt that he knows will snugly fit Gavin’s muscular torso—purely coincidental as Richard would much rather not lend Gavin a designer shirt that  _ might _ fit the gangster better—he feels an arm snake around his waist and hot breath tickle the back of his neck. Richard freezes, heat rippling low in his abdomen as lips ghost near his ear. Gavin’s free hand tugs the shirt from Richard’s loose grip and Richard fights the urge to shiver.

“You gonna keep playing hard-to-get or you gonna tell me what you really want?” Gavin whispers, huskily.

He drops the shirt back in the drawer and shuts it. 

Richard turns around, ready to deny that he wants  _ anything _ , but the protest dies on his tongue when he comes face-to-face with Gavin and is pinned to his dresser. The arm curled around him hangs loosely but Richard can still feel the heat of Gavin’s skin through the fabric of his shirt. It has nothing on the heat burning in Gavin’s lust-blown gaze as the gangster meets Richard’s eyes.

“Why don’t  _ you _ tell me what  _ you _ want?” Richard demands, petulantly. 

His voice quivers with unbridled need, betraying his facade of irritation.

“Nah, that’s not how we’re playing this,” Gavin answers. His lips are tender as he presses them along the line of Richard’s jaw, the rough hairs lining his cheek scratching against Richard’s smooth flesh. Richard’s breath hitches when Gavin’s mouth lingers near his own, cruel in his refusal to close the distance and kiss him. “You’re gonna tell me  _ everything _ you want, sweetheart, and I’m gonna give it to you. You can’t hide behind blow or booze this time.”

The scent of Richard’s body wash on Gavin’s skin awakens something feral in him, something that plays into his need to  _ always _ be in control. To claim and possess because when Richard decides to give a shit, he isn’t sharing what he decides is  _ his. _

But there’s something both untamed and dominating about Gavin’s presence, something that demands submission. A silent refusal to relinquish any of the hold he has on Richard. More and more, Richard’s beginning to question if he’s not trading in one addiction for another. 

“And what if I want something you refuse to give me?” Richard retorts. Part of his brain is wired to always want stimulants and make him a victim in his lack of self-control. When he thinks of what he’s done for his indulgences, he colors in shame. But he also knows that if it’s on the table, he’d give into any humiliation to get it.

The towel falls from Gavin’s waist and Richard swallows a sound of need. Smirking, Gavin presses his lips chastely to Richard’s, retreating before Richard can deepen it. The playfulness in Gavin’s smirk doesn’t quite match the intensity of his eyes and there’s very little Richard can do as he watches Gavin take one of his hands and seductively lick a stripe across Richard’s pulse point. This time, he actually does shiver.

“You really telling me all you can think about is blow when you got me naked ‘n ready to fuck you?”

Richard’s cock throbs in his jeans. 

_ Fuck. _

“Why must you make me say it?” Richard asks, his voice sounding small to his ears. There’s hesitation, doubt. Like by giving in, he’s somehow giving up that protective shield he’s hidden behind when he feels something more than a passing interest for a pretty face.

“Cuz I’m not about to let you blame this shit on something else,” Gavin answers, quietly. “I like you, Nines, and I ain’t afraid to own up to that. But if you fucking want me, you gotta say it. No fucking excuses.”

... _ oh. _

He’s not sure how he’s missed this, the hint of nervousness in Gavin’s wavering smirk. Even if Gavin acts as if _ everybody _ wants him, he must have taken some of what Richard accused him of to heart. 

It’s about power, sure. Gavin’s as hungry for control as Richard is. But it’s also about letting Richard know that there’s nothing he can use to deny this was anything but mutual later. Gavin’s never pushed him to do anything against his consent. 

Suddenly, Richard feels even more naive for questioning Gavin’s intentions. 

Cradling Gavin’s cheek with his hand, Richard swallows the last of his doubt. “I want you, Gavin...perhaps more than I like admitting.”

The soft smile on Gavin’s lips lasts only a moment. Then, that confident smirk is back in full force and Gavin releases a breathy chuckle. “See, babe? Was that so fucking hard?”

“Imbecile,” Richard utters, before surging in for a kiss. He groans against Gavin’s lips, still swollen from when he’d kissed him earlier. Now rock hard and aching to the point it’s become painful, he tugs Gavin closer, rewarded to feel Gavin’s own erection poking at his thigh. Sliding a hand down Gavin’s backside, Richard’s hand stops once it’s cupping Gavin’s firm ass and he gives it a light squeeze. It’s flatter than his own but still nice, nonetheless.

“You want to change it up a bit? Bend me over so you can pound me with that monster cock of yours?” Gavin asks. 

He wiggles his ass and Richard blushes, moving his hand to rest on Gavin’s hip. He’s not done  _ that _ since Markus and even then, he found he preferred when Markus was the one fucking him. 

“As tempting as that is to try,” Richard whispers lustfully, “I would much rather have you inside me.”

The few men who’ve fucked him since his last encounter with Gavin left him... _ wanting _ . He came, sure, but it was almost anti-climatic the way he would spill for a man who lacked Gavin’s husky voice and distinct rhythm. It didn’t matter that Gavin was the only thing on his mind when Richard was in bed with someone else. None of them satisfied that intense need that Gavin always fulfills and Richard can’t be sure the drugs he had been on were the only thing to blame. 

“Yeah?” Gavin starts unbuttoning Richard’s shirt, the care at which he handles the designer shirt betraying his obvious impatience to get Richard naked. “You want me fuck you on all fours or you wanna make good use of this dresser?”

“I do not care  _ how _ you take me,” Richard answers, voice quaking with desire, “I  _ need  _ you, Gavin.”

Pulling the shirt off Richard’s shoulders, Gavin’s hands move slowly, tips of his fingers grazing Richard’s biceps. Richard’s eyes follow the movement, exhaling sharply, wishing Gavin would press his hands to Richard’s touch-starved flesh. Then, with care Richard would have never expected, Gavin casts the shirt onto the dresser. It’s a little surprising since Gavin usually just tosses Richard’s clothes onto the floor, regardless of how filthy it is. He then thumbs at one of Richard’s sensitive nipples and Richard bites back a tiny gasp. Though it’s been weeks, he hardly feels they’ve recovered from the last time Gavin sucked and pinched at them. 

“Think I got just the thing.” He moves his hands to unbuckle Richard’s jeans, kissing Richard as he removes them. The wet smack of their lips and languid brushing of their tongues should not be this loud but Richard’s left dizzy from how thoroughly Gavin kisses him. His jeans pool around his ankles and he’s hardly aware of it until his underwear joins them. 

Breaking the kiss, Gavin strokes Richard’s dick, coating the palm of his hand with the pre-cum dribbling off the tip. Richard gives a small whine, rutting up into Gavin’s hand for more friction. So Gavin indulges him, pumping his fist along the shaft and beating Richard off with a slow but steady pressure. His grip on Richard’s cock feels _ good,  _ and soon Richard’s fighting back his groans, thrusting into Gavin’s fist. But just as Gavin’s hand starts moving at the same speed Richard likes to use on himself, Gavin’s releasing him. It’s a struggle to not snap at Gavin to keep going. 

“Turn around, sweetheart,” Gavin gently orders, “and spread ‘em so I can taste your cute little pucker.”

The crassness of it makes Richard’s cheeks burn but instead of arguing, he does as he’s ordered, stepping out of his clothing and kicking it aside. He then turns around, leaning over the dresser and spreading his legs. A sound spills unbidden from his lips as Gavin’s hand brushes the inside of his thighs. 

“Is this good enough or do you have more demands you wish to bark at me?” Richard asks, with a bored huff. 

Gavin hums his approval, trails a finger behind Richard’s balls and skims it upward to press it tauntingly against Richard’s entrance. Richard tries to push back on it but Gavin’s not about to yield to him. 

“Gotta be patient, baby,” Gavin says, using a hand to bend Richard forward. His smooth voice hits Richard’s ears like a fine whiskey as he promises, “We’re just getting started.”

Propped on his elbows, Richard listens as Gavin drops to his knees behind him. Rough hands part his cheeks and Richard releases a small shiver as hot breath tickles his asshole. He holds his breath in anticipation and when he feels the wet slide of Gavin’s tongue pass across his entrance, Richard exhales sharply. Fuck. This is  _ not _ how he remembers this feeling like.

“G-Gavin,” he whimpers, quivering as Gavin licks at his hole. 

Gavin holds nothing back, absolutely shameless as he slurps and sucks on Richard’s entrance. His hands knead at the firm cheeks they grasp, fondling the pale flesh. He suckles at Richard’s pucker ravenously, as if he’s that starved for good ass, and Richard’s happy there’s no way Gavin can see his face because he knows he must be blushing brighter than a tomato. But Gavin doesn’t seem to give a shit how eager he sounds, even moaning as his tongue begins to press insistently inside of Richard. Unable to hold himself up, Richard collapses further onto the dresser, until he’s nearly flat against it.

“Must you be this noisy?!” Richard hisses.

The pressure on his entrance recedes just as the tip of Gavin’s tongue was about to breach him. There’s a playful smack on his left cheek and Richard shudders, a pleasing trill dancing up his spine. As he throws a glare over his shoulder, he’s met with Gavin’s ever infuriating smirk, chin shining with his own saliva.

“Can’t a guy appreciate some fine tasting ass?” Gavin asks, innocently. “You’re like a five star restaurant, babe.”

“I’d much rather you not compare any part of me to food,” Richard snaps, failing to hide his embarrassment. “What if Connor were to come home?”

“Then I guess you got a lot of explaining to do,” Gavin retorts, cheekily.

Prick.

Richard’s ready to snap at Gavin some more but his insult is not half-way off his tongue when his voice cracks into a throaty groan. Gavin’s mouth is now latched to the back of his balls, suckling intentionally noisier on his sac. The asshole seems intent on making Richard feel like a wallflower for wanting Gavin to show some self-control, never one to back down from an opportunity to demonstrate his sexual prowess. But Richard can’t complain as the way Gavin mouths and sucks at his sac is making him heady with bliss. His thoughts become a monotonous train of  _ Gavin Gavin Gavin  _ as he shudders and whimpers for  _ more. _

Using a finger to trace Richard’s hole, Gavin circles it a few times with the calloused tip and then begins to push in. Richard inhales sharply as Gavin eases it in, the tight ring stretching and taking Gavin’s forefinger until he’s buried to the knuckle. It becomes impossible to focus on what feels better: the way Gavin laves at his balls or the finger that’s begun to slowly fuck Richard open. It hardly matters so long as Gavin doesn’t stop touching him. 

Dragging his tongue up, Gavin licks a wet path to Richard’s entrance, sloppy enough that Richard feels drops of saliva drip down to his balls. He whines when the loss of Gavin’s finger follows but it’s quickly replaced by the gangster’s tongue, which pushes until it’s past the first barrier of resistance. Now partway inside, Gavin tongues at Richard’s inner walls, dipping in deeper and teasing open the tight muscles that retract against it. The sound Richard utters is something between a cry and a moan as he rocks back onto Gavin’s tongue. Gavin groans in approval, a sound that vibrates against Richard’s balls.

“Wh-why am I not surprised that you are this filthy?” Richard gasps out.

Gavin’s tongue moves in and out of Richard’s ass, hands keeping Richard’s cheeks spread. But on hearing that, the gangster moves his right hand, a loud  _ SMACK!  _ echoing in the room as he slaps Richard’s ass harder than he had earlier. Richard jerks forward, collapsing the rest of way onto the dresser, trembling from how much he enjoys the pain sparking from the reddening flesh. He bites into his arm to bury his moans as Gavin palms at the spot he slapped, his tongue still pushing into Richard as deep as it can go. Saliva trickles down the inside of his legs and Richard’s never felt more like a slut, desperate to spread and open himself for Gavin. If he’s forced to endure another moment without Gavin’s cock inside him, he thinks he’ll pass out from need.

“Gavin,” Richard whimpers, “I need you.  _ Now! _ ”

Gavin’s mouth moves from his asshole and it’s almost worse having  _ nothing _ filling him. But not a second later, Gavin’s curling an arm around Richard, pulling him upright until the detective is leaning upright against the dresser. A fat cock slides between Richard’s cheeks, brushing against his entrance, and the tiny whine he releases is answered with a soft laugh. 

“This what you want, sweetheart?” Gavin taunts him, rutting his hips to continue being the sadistic bastard he is so his unsheathed cock rubs against Richard’s hole.

“Obviously,” Richard retorts, the word quaking with his arousal. “Do not make me beg.”

“Maybe I like it when you beg.”

“Gavin.”

The second syllable drags like a plea. He mentally berates himself for showing yet another sign of submission. 

Tender kisses are pressed to Richard’s spine and he shivers as Gavin’s hot breath tickles his cool skin. The arm furled around him loosens. 

“You got condoms and lube?”

“In the nightstand,” Richard answers.

He turns his head and, expectantly, Gavin’s mouth finds his, kissing him hungrily. He relaxes in Gavin’s grip, easing against the gangster’s chest as Gavin drags out the kiss for as long as either of them can go. When Gavin breaks it, he pants gently against Richard’s lips, “On the bed.”

Richard obeys. 

As Gavin rifles around in the drawer, Richard positions himself on all fours, feeling suddenly nervous. He’s more turned on than he’s been in weeks but a lot of the sex he’s been having has been under the influence of something. Being sober for this feels almost...alien to him. 

“Get on your back, sweetheart,” Gavin says, placing the lube on the nightstand and holding a condom in his other hand. “Gonna make this nice and comfortable for you.”

“I thought you said  _ I _ could choose how we’re doing this,” Richard argues.

“I did. And you said you didn’t give a shit. So, I’m choosing,” Gavin replies. “You gonna blame me for wanting to watch your pretty face while I’m pounding you?”

“Must you always be so lewd?”

“It’s part of my fucking charm.”

“I think you and I have a different understanding of what is ‘charming’,” Richard retorts.

“You gonna keep arguing with me or we gonna do this?”

Richard crawls to the edge of the bed, grasping the base of Gavin’s cock. Whatever Gavin was going to say must no longer be important because the gangster snaps his mouth closed. Amused that Richard’s finally got the upper hand, he licks the head of Gavin’s dick, moaning as he catches a taste of Gavin on his tongue. Gavin watches him, pupils blown wide, while Richard begins to suck him off. It’s difficult to get the gangster to shut up, but Richard has to admit that this method is proving to be quite effective.

Fingers tangle into his hair and Gavin positions Richard’s head in a way that makes it easier for him to thrust forward into the detective’s mouth. Though Richard’s been doing this a lot lately, he’s still pretty shitty when it comes to controlling his gag reflex but Gavin seems to remember how easily Richard choked the first time Richard blew him. So Gavin moves gently, pushing in part way before pulling back out, then thrusting back in. A gentle sigh falls from Gavin’s parted lips and Richard’s stomach flips as Gavin utters the name, “Nines”. It makes Richard more eager to please, less paranoid that Gavin’s going to judge him for not being able to deep throat him. 

“Fuck, that’s good, baby,” Gavin groans, gazing down lustfully as Richard sucks harder on the dick in his mouth. Richard makes a pleased sound as bitter drops of pre-cum hit his tongue, his cheeks on fire for how intently Gavin watches him. Yeah, this is definitely a lot easier to do when he’s high. “Never knew you liked sucking dick this much.”

It never ends, the constant commentary that Richard suspects Gavin’s giving just to fluster him. He pops his mouth off Gavin’s cock, pumping his fist on the shaft, and sits up on his knees. Grabbing Gavin by the back of the neck, Richard pulls his head down and kisses him hard. When he releases Gavin, the gangster voices his disapproval but Richard’s not about to put this off any longer.

“I’m still waiting for that ‘pounding’ I was promised,” Richard says saucily.

Gavin shrugs. “Only asshole you gotta blame is yourself. Your mouth is nice, sweetheart, but my dick’s got other places it wants to be.”

He reaches down and squeezes one of Richard’s cheeks.

“Imbecile,” Richard mutters, failing to come up with a clever response. 

“My new favorite nickname,” Gavin retorts, with a cheesy grin.

Snatching the condom from Gavin’s hand, Richard rips it open. His face is bright red again but Gavin doesn’t remark on it, instead, kissing along Richard’s collarbone. Despite how badly Richard wants Gavin, it’s hard to focus when Gavin’s lips are on his skin.

Rolling the condom onto Gavin’s cock, Richard hears a tiny shiver against his throat. Then, he’s being pushed down onto his back, Gavin crawling over him with an insatiable look in his eyes. Richard bites his lower lip as he watches Gavin take the bottle of lubricant and coats his fingers with the viscous liquid. Within seconds, two of them are being pressed to Richard’s entrance and he gasps as they push inside of him. Thicker than the tongue that had explored him so intimately, he can only tremble as his walls are once more stretched. Fuck, it doesn’t matter  _ what _ Gavin’s putting inside him; it always feels  _ good. _

“Oh, Gavin,” Richard shudders, unconsciously spreading as Gavin pumps his fingers in and out of him. 

Gavin soon adds a third, sinking them in deep enough to rub that spot that makes colors burst behind Richard’s closed eyes. He whimpers and tries to push down on them as they retreat but a hand on his hip stops him, while a voice whispers heatedly in his ear, “I think you’re ready for me, sweetheart.”

Richard’s eyes blink open, startled by the tender yet ravenous expression on Gavin’s face. He reacts belatedly as Gavin gestures for him to lift his hips and one of his pillows is placed beneath them. Settling comfortably on it, Richard waits with bated breath as Gavin pumps lube on his cock and then tosses aside the bottle. The exhale Richard releases in shaky.

...why does he feel so nervous?

Positioning himself against Richard’s entrance, Gavin stops before going any further. There’s that strange trepidation that he has to be feeling too, but for reasons different from Richard’s.

“You sure—”

“Yes,” Richard answers decisively, not needing to hear the question. He’s sober enough that he knows he can’t blame a bit of dust for any ‘regrets’ he has later.

Satisfied, Gavin grasps one of Richard’s hips and begins pushing in. Richard bites back a sound at the gentle sting of Gavin filling him, his inner walls squeezing around Gavin’s girth. It’s not even the largest cock he’s taken but it’s thick enough that every time Gavin’s entered him, Richard feels it for days after their encounters. Seeking anything as a substitute has proven an impossible task, as Richard pathetically recalls the few times he’s tried fucking himself with his own fingers, only to bitterly concede that if he wants it to feel this  _ good _ , he’ll have to go back to the source.

Gavin’s not only ruined other people for him, he’s also ruined masturbation. Not that Richard will ever tell him that.

“Christ, Nines,” Gavin moans, dropping his head to Richard’s shoulder. He exhales sharply, like he’s fighting every instinct telling him to fuck Richard into the mattress. Richard almost wishes he would just let go, even if he has to pay for it later. “Why you always gotta feel so fucking  _ good? _ ”

Richard hisses as Gavin pulls out ever slightly, thrusting back in with a tiny groan. The detective whimpers the gangster’s name, a quiet urging for him to keep going. Any discomfort he’s feeling quickly evaporates as Gavin rocks gently into him, pushing in deeper with each roll of his hips. Soon, Richard’s hooking a leg around Gavin and rocking with him, clinging to every sensation as it courses through him. It’s hard to believe he’s bothered with anyone else when none of them make him feel the way Gavin does.

“Fuck, babe,” Gavin groans softly, pushing into him harder, “just...fuck…”

He snaps his hips, penetrating Richard deeply and eliciting a throaty whine from him. It would be humiliating how quickly Richard succumbs to a writhing, moaning mess as he clutches onto Gavin, if the gangster wasn’t also being as vocal. As Gavin steadily fucks into him, Richard shuts his eyes and rides each thrust, thighs quaking as they squeeze Gavin’s hips. Every drag of Gavin’s dick as it pulls out and pushes back in leaves Richard trembling and aching for Gavin to fuck him harder.

“Look at me,” Gavin insists.

Richard’s eyes open, a flush splashing across his cheeks at how openly wanton Gavin looks down at him. Like he’s a starved whore whose thirst for cock will only be sated once Gavin cums thick inside of him. Gavin’s thrusts get rougher, perhaps detecting that salacious need Richard has to be treated recklessly enough that the evidence of what they’re doing is written into his flesh. Smashing his lips to Richard’s, Gavin kisses him just as hard, teeth and tongue showing Richard no mercy. The hint of copper sits on Richard’s lips as Gavin pants against his mouth.

“Turn over,” Gavin orders, voice heavy with need.

He hardly waits until he’s pulled out of Richard before Gavin’s flipping him onto his stomach, pushing aside the pillow. Richard’s legs quiver, erection throbbing against the bedspread. His hips lift ever slightly off the mattress as Gavin’s hands force his ass cheeks apart and he moans the gangster’s name as that familiar pressure once again fills him. Gavin wastes little time until he’s thrusting in hard, his hips smacking against Richard’s ass with every deep push into Richard’s tight heat. At this angle, it’s even easier to hit that right spot and Richard’s thighs tremble as Gavin’s cock finds it.

“Gavin,” Richard begs, chest flat to the bed and fingers clutching the black comforter, “Oh, Gavin!”

Vision blurring with each dizzying sensation rippling from his core, Richard’s body slides a bit forward with every rough snap of Gavin’s hips. He only just keeps himself from smacking his head on the headboard, moving a pillow to cushion him as Gavin fucks him harder. Abandoning the last of his restraint, Richard moans and pleads with Gavin to make him cum, the pillow muffling the most desperate of his cries. But Gavin must understand, is showing his ass absolutely no mercy as his fingers dig into Richard’s side and he buries his cock with ruthless determination. Richard’s so far gone that all he needs is even the hint of Gavin’s touch on him and he’ll be spilling hot into the sheets.

Teetering at the precipice, Richard’s cries are answered by the arm that snakes around him and the hand that grasps his dick. One pump and white is exploding behind Richard’s eyes, thick ropes splashing across his abdomen. He clenches down on Gavin’s dick as waves of ecstasy burst from within him, riding that current with each tug of Gavin’s fist. Gavin milks him dry and all Richard can do is grip his pillow and whimper helplessly into it as he surrenders to his orgasm, too spent to even move.

The intensity of it pulls Gavin with him as, with only a few more thrusts, Gavin succumbs, ejaculating with Richard’s nickname ripping from his throat. The gangster’s grip is bruising as his cum-laced fingers clutch Richard’s waist and he lazily empties himself, pushing into him one last time. Then, all too soon, he’s collapsing onto Richard’s back, panting hard into the detective’s ear. Neither of them move as they catch their collective breaths. 

Breathing heavily, Richard sighs as kisses are pressed to his sweat-slicked shoulder. Gavin noses at his hairline and then leaves a tender kiss on the side of Richard’s neck. Before long, the gangster shifts away and the loss of his warmth makes Richard shiver, the cool air in his room nipping at his skin. An almost melancholic feeling washes over him now that Gavin is no longer inside of him. But Richard has hardly time to process it before he’s taken into Gavin’s embrace once more, clutched to Gavin’s chest as Gavin carefully strokes aside the strands of hair matted to Richard’s forehead. A vulnerable smile pulls at the corners of Gavin’s lips.

“Someone got a little loud,” Gavin says, now smirking cheekily. “And you said I’m the noisy one. Never knew you had it in you, sweetheart.”

And just like that, all traces of vulnerability are gone and he’s back to his cocky self. Richard glares and slaps Gavin’s shoulder.

“You must be going deaf in your old age if you believe  _ I  _ was noisier,” Richard bites back. 

So much for having a moment.

Chuckling, Gavin kisses Richard softly and though Richard’s now glaring, he immediately indulges the gangster. As much as he wants to play up the pretense of feeling insulted, Richard sinks into Gavin’s arms as Gavin pulls him possessively closer. With Gavin’s muscular legs sliding against his and his scent heavy on each breath Richard inhales, Richard is completely consumed by the smell and feel of Gavin and knows there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

For some time, they lay together, quiet and content in each other’s company. The sticky sweat plastered to Richard’s skin would usually push him to get up and shower but he finds he’d much rather remain here. Gavin rubs his back, murmuring the occasional remark about how gorgeous Richard is. Coming from anyone else, Richard would roll his eyes. But it’s in the way the words roll off Gavin’s tongue that makes something flutter in Richard’s chest and he can’t get enough of Gavin’s quiet words of endearment.

“Think I’m gonna need another shower before I head out,” Gavin says, with a small laugh. 

Richard’s chest tightens at the thought of Gavin leaving. The cravings are still there, like an itch beneath his skin. No matter how much he scratches, how he claws away at the outer layer, he can never make it go away. Maybe he never will. But, for whatever reason, having Gavin around turns the worst of those urges into minor irritations, ones he can easily ignore.

Snuggling into Gavin, with his face mostly hidden in the crook of the gangster’s neck, Richard decides he’s too tired to care if he’s coming off as too attached, too needy. All he knows is that if he doesn’t have to, he doesn’t want to spend the night alone.

“I...suppose you  _ could _ stay longer, since you are already here,” Richard whispers, like he’s the one doing Gavin a favor. Perhaps he still cares a little about appearing too needy. “I do not have to go into work until tomorrow night. That will give us more time to have more... _ fun _ .”

He emphasizes the word, trailing his fingers suggestively down Gavin’s side. With a smirk that Richard hears more than sees, Gavin noses at Richard’s hair and inhales deeply. The contented sound he makes at breathing in Richard’s scent makes Richard’s stomach flip. 

“Sure, babe. I’ll stick around for more  _ fun _ ,” Gavin humors him. 

Knowing Gavin can’t see it, Richard smiles.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon goes as predictably as expected: they fight, they fuck, and at some point, Gavin manages to convince Richard to give one of Connor’s shitty superhero movies ‘a chance’. But just because Richard reluctantly agrees to sit through one doesn’t mean he agreed to pay attention. And damn, does he welcome any distraction from watching some jerk-off Canadian actor make outdated quips on screen. 

That’s how, not a third of the way into Deadpool, Richard’s mouth finds its way onto Gavin’s dick and he’s sucking Gavin off so loudly, it drowns out all the bad jokes. Pretty soon, any complaints Gavin’s made, demanding, “Pay fucking attention, Nines, this part’s  _ good, _ ” are quickly forgotten. Funny how easy it is to get Gavin to stop berating Richard when Richard’s bobbing on Gavin’s dick.

By the time Richard wakes up the next morning, wrapped in Gavin’s arms, Richard’s the most sore he’s ever been but a  _ good _ kind of sore. However, that short-lived peace and quiet is soon disrupted once that constant banter they’re engaged in starts up again. In between arguing and kissing each other senseless, they fuck for what has to be the fourth time in twenty-four hours, Richard cumming so hard, there’s no avoiding tossing the sweat-and-cum stained bedding into the washer, once he drags his bone-weary body out of bed.

In need of a caffeine fix, Richard meets Gavin in the kitchen, who’s already making coffee. Richard glares at the mug Gavin places in front of him—made from some instant garbage Connor had tucked away in the back of the cupboard, probably hidden to escape Richard’s judgment—and reluctantly takes two sips before declaring it inedible.

“I’ve had gas station coffee more palatable than this.” 

“Wait, hold up—Mr. I’m-too-fucking-self-important-to-drink-non-espresso-shit has had gas station coffee? Show me the fucking receipts—I want deets!” 

“...I would advise you to forget what you _thought_ I said or I _will_ exercise abuse of my badge and implicate you in every unsolved murder east of Lansing.”

Richard does the only sensible thing and dumps his coffee down the sink. Some humiliations are not worth enduring, even for a bit of caffeine.

While Richard cooks breakfast, having snorted derisively at Gavin’s suggestion to get takeout given his “culinary superiority to greasy filth,” they continue to disagree on everything—this time, over the virtues (or vices) of pet ownership. Of course, since Richard has the misfortune of knowing far too many cat lovers, he is forced to endure a rather passionate defense of Gavin’s cat, a black and white fur demon known otherwise as ‘Socks’. When Richard turns up his nose at the pictures of it Gavin snapped with his phone, Gavin scowls.

“Hey, fuck you, Socks is fucking  _ adorable _ ,” Gavin grumbles.

Richard sniffs distastefully, turning over the omelet he’s cooking. “I am uncertain what is so charming about a cat attacking its own tail.”

“He was being fucking cute!”

“There is nothing  _ cute _ about an animal not realizing its fighting its own tail, Gavin.”

“Just for that, don’t expect me to send you any pics of the random shit Socks does,” Gavin says, biting into a piece of apple from the plate of sliced fruit Richard prepared. “All you get are dick pics.”

“Excuse me while I fail to hide my disappointment,” Richard remarks dryly. But his disdain for Gavin’s cat fails to keep him from coloring at the mention of the kinds of pictures he’d be more than happy to receive.

Tugging Richard close, Gavin removes the spatula Richard’s holding and sets it on the counter behind him. He then wraps his arms around Richard, nosing at the detective’s jaw and releases a breathy chuckle. The feel of his laughter tickling Richard’s skin makes Richard’s pulse race. “Stay on my good side, sweetheart, ‘n maybe I’ll send you a sneak peek of what I’ll be doing while you’re at work tonight.”

“You honestly believe I want to watch a video of  _ that _ ?” Richard says, trying to sound offended but unable to keep his voice from hitching.

Gavin doesn’t miss it. “Who wouldn’t? Christ, if you sent me something like that—jacking yourself off or fingering your pucker—fuck, I’d take the night off and watch that shit on repeat. You know, open a nice bottle of red, romance myself a bit first—”

“You’re an idiot,” Richard hisses, so embarrassed that his insult lacks any bite, “and incredibly irresponsible.”

“And you fucking adore that about me.”

“I do not—”

His protest is muffled by Gavin’s lips, which effectively silence him and his desire to keep arguing. Forgetting he’s in the middle of cooking, Richard pins Gavin to the island, deepening the kiss. Both are so distracted that neither hear the front door open until it’s too late. Richard breaks the kiss as it finishes swinging open. Staring over Gavin’s shoulder, his eyes widen with horror. 

Carrying two cups of coffee, North crowds the doorway. She startles as she catches sight of the pair, clutching each other and clad in only sweatpants. She’s so shocked, she seems unable to say whatever must be sitting on her tongue.

When Gavin turns to see what’s caught Richard’s attention, North fumbles and nearly drops both the coffees. It’s only then that she appears to recognize  _ who _ is standing in the kitchen half-naked with Richard.

“Hey, Red,” Gavin says, giving her a small wave.

In that moment, Richard wishes the floor would fall out from under him because a collapsing building is significantly less terrifying than being caught with someone he knows North will have a few choice words to say to.

And, as he’s come to expect, Gavin’s blithe attitude is only making whatever punishment is in store for Richard  _ worse _ . 

With a glare, Richard smacks Gavin.

“Ouch! What the fuck, Nines?!”

Seeming to shake off her surprise, North enters the apartment.

“Rich,” North starts, moving cautiously into the room. She glances suspiciously between him and Gavin, “do you wanna explain to me what the  _ hell _ is going on?!”

  
  



End file.
